Nowhere to Turn
by Okami-chan
Summary: Jazz-centric. G1 AU ish . Nothing is as it appears. Sometimes all it takes is one individual to hold a unit together… and one to tear it apart. Eventual Jazz/Sideswipe
1. Prologue

**Nowhere to Turn**

**Character**/**Pairing** Using Jazz/unnamedOC to set up for events that lead to eventual Jazz/Sideswipe (she's currently planned to only make this one brief appearance), plus other pairings to be implied. OCs to appear as necessary. Canon characters throughout (heavy on Lambos, Datsuns, a certain medic, and the Special Ops Trio)  
**Author's Note** This could possibly be considered a slight AU, as Prime's unit isn't quite the normal one we see. As a matter of fact we're only going to get outside glimpses of Prime's unit. It's never seemed real clear in the cartoon, but I like to go by the idea that there used to be a heck of a lot more units than Prime's on Cybertron (a lot like we see in IDW-verse, with Prime being the 'Commander General') that were slowly wiped out by the Decepticons. The core group we know of in Prime's unit didn't start there.

This fic is promising to be rather sizeable. It's my attempt at doing a pairing 'right' (by actually starting at the beginning of the relationship, rather than in the middle, which is where I'm more comfortable). I'd been itching to write Jazz/Sideswipe for a while, and was ecstatic to be struck by this plot bunny.

* * *

**Prologue**

**Warning** This part contains some mechanical gore, don't think it's really gruesome, but it's there.

Originally this was written as a separate back story piece for the rest of the fic, but I felt that the actual first chapter started too sudden, and needed a prologue. I thought about doing a Sideswipe POV chapter, but that just revealed too much about his character. This however suited my need just fine.

* * *

Jazz used to consider her a friend.

Used to consider her a comrade-in-arms.

He'd never thought he'd be allowed to hold her in his arms. Watching her for so long, she seemed too fine for his soiled hands, so real and yet just beyond his touch. He'd never thought he could ever charm his way into her spark like she had wormed into his.

He fingered the secondary trigger at the small of her back, cradling her to his chest, heedless of the coolant spattered across her hourglass torso. Except that it was _her_ coolant that covered his hands, and _her _coolant brightly pulsing from the slit in her neck.

After being together for so long, how could she do this to him? To the entire unit?

She stared at him, optics wide in shock, hands clenching weakly at the air. Coolant spurted from the panels that used to mount the barrels of her altmode; ripped off in a rage that had left the metal torn, and the wires shredded. It coated his hands, pooling about his feet.

He'd loved her from a distance for a vorn, savoring every glance she graced him, wallowing in every greeting she gave.

He'd never been so shy and Razoredge, his keen optics seeing the furtive glances Jazz threw her way, had asked him what the difference between her and every other bot who had caught his eye.

Jazz had no answer for him at that time.

He clutched her frame, unwilling to believe that she was _dying_ in has arms. Unwilling to believe what had happened. Yet there was no denying the truth. Even when he looked away from her, trying to find somewhere that didn't remind him of the broken femme in his arms, the truth was smeared in bright blue streaks across the walls.

A shudder shook his plating, and tears rolled down his cheeks. Dental plates clenched back a glitching sob as he bowed over her.

Razoredge, always on the lookout for the well-being and happiness of his small team, assigned her to accompany him on what should have been a simple mission. Jazz wasn't exactly sure how he'd explained the need to the CMO, but it had done what the Special Ops commander had intended, even if not exactly in the manner he'd wanted.

Captured by Discordance, tortured and interrogated, they'd found one another in the terror of those that expected to die. In desperate hands and hot mouths that needed to find a moment of peace in the confines of an enemy stronghold.

It hadn't been enough. _He_ hadn't been enough.

Trembling fingers stroked the edges of an open access panel, the cable within sparking from having been torn from its moorings.

Her mouth gaped with words that couldn't be pushed past her vocalizer. Those wires had also been neatly cut. He gently wiped off the energon that dribbled from the pool in her mouth, not wanting it to ignite along her severed power lines. Not wanting it to mar her beautiful face.

Jazz used to consider her a lover.

He didn't look up when another mech pounded into the bare room.

"Freeze, put your hands in-"

Silence, surprised and sudden. The blaster aimed toward the two Autobots on the floor wavered.

Jazz finally looked up when the last bit of light died within her eyes. His jaw still clenched, moist tears still wetting his cheek.

"Jazz?" A communication accompanied that single query, a call for backup. "Do you-? I detected…" Red Alert couldn't seem to get the words out. Finally the red and white mech straightened, composing himself. "I'm going to have to arrest you for the…" Keen optics took in the fluids smeared across the walls. "-the torture and murder of a fellow Autobot." The sharp gaze sought out an open panel on the wall, a broken cord still attached to it, then he glanced at the femme's access panel, shorting and sparking. "Pending further investigation."

Jazz wiped her name from his memory banks and he shuttered his optics, leaning his head back against the grief that seized his spark. "It ain't murder, if it's killin' an-" he choked on the word, his fuel tanks churning with the unfinished sentence. He resolutely pushed on. "-if it's an enemy."

Another glance from the broken cord to the sparking panel. "That will have to await Firestar's evaluation."

More feet pounded down the hall, only to grind to a halt just behind the new security officer.

"What happened here? _Let me through!_" A red femme forced her way to the forefront, helped along the way by a much larger red mech. She jerked to a stop in front of Jazz. Blue optics paled in shock, tracing the coolant that slowly ran down Jazz's hood. With a sharp rev of her engine, Firestar knelt and took the femme from Jazz's arms, and Jazz did not fight it.

He'd already lost her when he'd first come into the room.

Another, green striped in brown, followed at a measured pace, pulling Inferno back. Jazz couldn't meet Razoredge's gaze. He didn't want his commander's sympathy. He didn't want to see the accusation.

Red Alert glanced at Razoredge, his optics slipping to the silent form of Red Magnum, before moving forward to clamp a hand on Jazz's shoulder.

Razoredge silently contemplated Jazz, the medic's furious chatter a hollow echo in Jazz's audio receptors. They might have removed her from his hands, but he couldn't bear to tear his gaze away. Hoping that she would twitch, gives some sign that she still functioned.

"What did you _do?_" Razoredge snapped, shock shorting his vocalizer.

The words finally spurred Jazz to his feet, and he stumbled toward his friend, wrenching away from Red Alert's hand. He grabbed at Razoredge, aware that every gun was on him. He left blue streaks across the green armor, fingers digging into seams to hold him up. Razoredge lifted a hand, frown never leaving his face.

"She lied t' m-" Jazz halted himself. He wanted Razoredge, Red Magnum, Red Alert, _all of them_ to understand, but he had to force the words out of his vocalizer. "She _lied_ t' us. She lied t' everyone." He slid to his knees, gaze dropping to the ground, shuddering in wracking sobs.

His brow ridge furrowed against his wishes as he let Red Alert pull him to his feet and away from Razoredge. "She lied to me," he tried again, his voice small, hating the way it sounded.

Razoredge frowned, finally turning to Red Magnum. The Commander didn't say anything, his mask hiding his expression. His chin tucked down, and looked around the small room. "He's your mech," the large mech said simply, turning on his heel and striding out of the room.

Razoredge vented a sigh, looking back down at Jazz. He blinked slowly, optics shifting as he thought.

"Jazz," he finally said, his words slow and carefully considered. "We'll let you know the results when Firestar has them."

"I don' care!" Jazz spat back. He knew the truth already. He'd shouldn't have stumbled upon that file, never meant to find that hack. The same one that had apparently alarmed the security officer. He glared at Razoredge, systems heated and his optics glitched in rage. "She's gone! She's dead!" he all but screamed at Razoredge, forcing the officer back a step, and as suddenly as it struck him, it vanished and he went limp. "What good is bein' told what I already know gonna do me?

The officer's frown deepened, and he tilted his head. "I understand. We'll give you some time first." He nodded at Red Alert, stepping over to kneel next to Firestar.

Red Alert looked the saboteur over, hand still on his shoulder. "If you come quietly, I won't cuff you."

"I don' care." What had he to care for anymore? Broken, his steps echoing in his audio receptors, he followed Red Alert's guiding hand through the crowd at the entrance.

He'd never felt so betrayed.

* * *

The energon bars of his cell reflected off his white plating, casting it into pink hues. His chronometer kept glitching as he allowed himself to be consumed by his overwhelming grief. Coolant still decorated his frame, the cloth offered by Red Alert discarded unused on the bunk next to him. He stared at his hands, the last remainder of a femme he'd given all he had to. Given everything and had it all dashed upon the streets before it had even started.

A shadow fell over him, but he didn't have to look up to see who it was.

"Jazz, could I talk to you?"

"Ain't ever stopped ya before, yer the officer after all," he forced out a soft chuckle to take the sting out of his words. Even in his despair he began assembling his mask.

The hum of the bars died, and Razoredge stepped in, not activating the cell again as he sat down next to Jazz. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs, and Jazz felt the weight of his gaze.

"I wish you'd waited for backup."

Jazz tilted a scowl at Razoredge, but didn't say anything, his gaze never leaving his blue hands.

"As it is, we didn't have the opportunity to speak with her and clarify what might have been going through her spark." Razoredge paused, and Jazz detected the slightest shift in his commander's posture. Another few astroseconds and Razoredge sighed. "Firestar found an anomaly within her processor."

Jazz snorted, unsurprised by the mech's 'revelation'. Jazz had pieced that together without a processor scan.

"Twi-"

"I don' wanna hear her name," Jazz finally spoke, his voice cutting through Razoredge.

The spy paused again, his optics flickering. "Did you notice anything anything odd about her behavior?"

Jazz choked back a sob, scraping his hands up the crest of his helm. "Only now that I think 'bout it."

"Did she tell you anything before…" Razoredge hesitated, but continued as though he hadn't halted. "Beforehand?"

Jazz'z fists clenched on his , his vocalizer tight against another sob that threatened to rack his frame. Razoredge's systems hummed impatiently. "I'm going t' kill him."

Razoredge stiffened, leaning away from Jazz, power humming through his optics in alarm. "Who?"

"Y'said 'Star found an anomaly, righ'?"

The spy nodded and his mouth pinched tighter. "She wouldn't give up. Red Magnum had to step in and demand she reach a conclusion. But, yes."

He couldn't help but to wince "Then it was Discordance. That slagging Pit-scum planted th' ideas in her head and made her do it." Anything would be better than to think she did it on her own.

"She said that? She and Discordance talked?"

Jazz glared at the other, his engine growling with restrained fury. "I didn't give her a chance t' talk." He hunched in on himself, remembering the terror that had twisted through as that light-hued mech had dragged her away, and she'd come back unscathed, but shaken, her optics pale, though he couldn't find a cause. "We never talked about it. I thought they did th' same things t' both'a us."

"I see." Razoredge picked up the cloth, tossing a few times before handing it over to Jazz. "Due to extenuating circumstances, you're not going to be charged. Do you still need time?"

"She was contacting the Cons?"

Razoredge pressed his lips together, his mouth thinning wordlessly.

"No, think I'm good now." Jazz wiped up the worst of the coolant, before he shoved himself to his feet, stepping out into the too bright hallway.

Razoredge seized Jazz's arm, turning the saboteur toward him. "There is a condition to your release."

Jazz sat back on his heels, frowning at the blank look on the spy's face. "Yeah?"

"You are accompanying me to medbay and you are going to allow Firestar to deepscan you. I'll have Starsaber verify the results." The bright-eyed hardness on his face conveyed his determination that the order would be followed regardless of Jazz's own objections. Daring Jazz to object.

Jazz stared at Razoredge, stunned. "Do wha'? That ain't nec-"

Razoredge snapped his head toward Jazz, brow ridge dropped in a scowl, and Jazz realized, too late, that it was the wrong thing to say.

It suddenly struck him that he really wasn't the only one to take this betrayal personally. She had been entrusted with the medics' safety on the battlefield. And she had betrayed that. Betrayed the friends and lovers of those medics.

"I guess it is…" Jazz shuddered at green fingers tightening on his arm, shock draining into his systems that he would be suspected of being influenced by the Cons.

He let Razoredge pull him toward the medbay, his gears wrenching with the weighty emotions of betrayal and grief. Discordance's light-hued face hovered before his mind's eyes, red optics burning into his processor.

That damned Decepticon would pay for meddling in the mind of the femme Jazz loved.


	2. Chapter 1

I was kinda sorta hoping to have had this out last week. I find I hate editing, and hope I never get so far behind in posting ever again.

* * *

Chapter 1

It had become almost customary for him to take up a position by the bar. It gave him a wide view of the whole of the rec room, and a central point for anyone to seek him out. He always sat there, looking out over the crowd with a fond sort of protectiveness, and even slight possessiveness, he normally reserved for his team. Each of the mechs in this room had come to depend on him as a confidante, and friend; one who was practiced at discretion and knew how to approach the much more reserved unit commander. He knew everyone's name, and they knew his, knew his face, knew his trust. He made it a point that none of the members of this unit were unfamiliar with him outside of the command offices.

Jazz did not know such a thing as an unfamiliar face and finding one in the midst of a crowd unsettled him.

Jazz first remembered seeing the red mech in the rec, during one of Frequency's loud victory bashes. His boisterous, yet easy, laughter rolled through the room, but from Jazz's position by the bar, he could see the pale optics that spoke of stress, pain. Fresh weld marks glinted in the strong lights of the rec room, revealing bared metal primed and waiting for a first layer of paint. He wondered that Ratchet allowed someone who was such distress out of the med bay. Though he couldn't see anything that would warrant such a drastic reaction. Did he sneak out of the med bay?

No, Ratchet would be hollering by now, or even during the breem that Jazz had contemplated this strange face.

He could see the latches for a rocket pack and a shoulder launcher. Didn't Bumblebee grumble about some arrogant red front liner disrupting his attempt to draw a bead on Megatron's new intelligence officer. Said he'd dropped out of the sky. Not many Autobots had rocket packs, even though there were quite a few who took the red of Primus as their paint jobs. '_What did 'Bee say his name was, Sideways, or somethin'?'_

"Ya gotta problem, one eye?"

Jazz held himself still, despite having been thoroughly startled. '_Yer losin yer touch there, Jazz._' He turned to the new arrival taking a sip from the high grade in his hand. The red rocketeer scowled at him, poised as though he were heading somewhere. But Jazz recognized all the signs of someone trying to pick a fight: the challenging stare, the tense joints, the hum of fingers as they clenched into a hard fist.

He waved his cube. "Nah, man. Ain't no problem." All appearances to the side, Jazz watched this mech like a turbohawk. He had all the pinnings of a fighter, sparked and built. His laughter hid a slowly simmering frustration that slipped to the fore in the absence of his friends. "Don't recognize yah, though." A black hand poked toward the red mech. "Name's Jazz. Didja come from Top Gear's unit?"

The pale optics stared from Jazz's visor to the extended hand. He crossed his arms over his chest, narrowing his optics at the grin Jazz offered. "No," he said simply, and strode off.

Jazz tucked his rejected limb back under his bumper. "Nice to meet ya, too," he muttered at himself, nodding at one of his team members making his way over to the bar.

Normally good-natured Bumblebee gave a hard glare at the red mech's back, confirming Jazz's suspicion that he was the one who had disrupted the minibot's shot. He dismissed Sides from his mind then. While it wasn't all that common for someone to brush Jazz off like that, it _did_ happen often enough that he didn't mark it as anything spectacular.

It was his second meeting with the warrior that stood out the most in Jazz's mind.

He'd grown accustomed to a lot in his time with this mis-matched band. The odd pranks (a few of which he participated in, willingly or not), the occasional fights (though there were less now, with him stepping in as a mediator), Ratchet's temper (really, who hadn't gotten used to that by now?).

He _wasn't_ used to stumbling over legs lying across the floor. Especially alarming as they were right across from med bay.

"Hey there, uh," Jazz broke off as he took in the pale optics and the unhappy frown. "Sides?" Narrowed optics confirmed that Jazz had at least that much of the name right. "D'ya need any help, man?"

The red mech pulled knees to his chest, drawing his feet closer to his body. "No."

Jazz glanced at the closed doors, hearing the muted sounds of repairs being made. "Well, you have t' forgive me fer not believin' ya."

"Would you just leave me the frag alone?" Sides was suddenly standing, and looming over the shorter black and white mech. His pale optics flashed, and his engine revved with lethal intent.

Jazz lifted a placating hand; not allowing his alarm at such an extreme reaction to show through. "Hey, can't I show concern for a fellow Autobot who looks t' be in pain?"

The red mech rocked back on his heels, surprised by Jazz's vehemence. "I… well..." He wiped a hand down his face. "I'm sorry." He paused, pale optics sweeping over the saboteur. "What did you say your name was again?"

Jazz grinned, sticking his hand out. "M'name's Jazz."

"Sideswipe." A smile tilted his handsome mouth as he clasped arms with the saboteur.

"Did y' come in with Top Gear's unit?"

His face darkened considerably, and Jazz worried that he was consistently hitting the wrong buttons with this mech. "No. We- my roommate and I, that is- were a part of Doldrum's command."

Jazz ran the name through his personal database. "I thought that unit was lost." He pulled up the correlating file, just as his new friend spoke up.

"All but two."

"So what're ya doin' here? Y' should be rechargin'." Jazz was steering the conversation back to where he wanted it.

"I… uh, well. I was worried about one of the mechs in there." Jazz tilted his head in disbelief. "Really! Little guy. Great shot, bad luck."

"Y' must be talking about Bluestreak." Jazz couldn't help the smile that crossed his face at the thought of the talkative youth.

"Yeah, him! You know him?" Confusion turned Sideswipe's mouth down.

"Oh yeah! Everyone here knows Bluestreak. Can't miss him. Course it doesn't help that he's Prowlie's protégé." Jazz glanced up at the red mech. "He was on loan to Top Gear until they put Scattershot back together. Nasty fall that guy had." Jazz glanced at the doors again. "Y' wanna get in and see him? Sounds like yer fond of the boy." Jazz smirked knowingly. "Lotta mechs'd be mad if ya hurt him."

Surprise widened Sideswipe's optics and he shook his head. "What? No! It's nothing like that! We're just friends." A chuckle rumbled from his tall frame. "Besides my –ah- roommate," Jazz frowned, not missing the warrior's hitch, "would disassemble me if I brought him to my berth. He, uh, talks too much." Nervous fingers rubbed at the jointed audio horns.

"Are y' sure y' don't need any help?" Jazz knew Ratchet would be fragged if he left someone out here who needed medical attention.

"Why do you keep asking that?"

"Yer optics, man."

Sideswipe brought his hands up to his face. "Oh," he murmured thoughtfully, like he'd forgotten a date or something minor rather than a sign of trauma. Then he shook his head in vehement refusal. "No! No, it's fine. It'll go away on its own."

His mouth dropped to a skeptical frown, and he looked up at the taller mech from beneath his helm, arms crossed under his bumper.

"Honest!"

Jazz contemplated the red mech a few more astroseconds before he sighed in defeat. "Well, y' can't sit here. Ratchet'll be mad if you send someone to his med bay cause they trip over ya." He took Sideswipe's elbow and led him down the hall.

Sideswipe glanced over his shoulder and he let out a despondent sigh, almost echoing Jazz's own sigh. "Yeah, okay."

The saboteur paused at one of many intersections inside Iacon. "Where's your quarters?"

"To the right and down a way. Look, I appreciate what you're doing, but I'm good from here."

Jazz pulled his mouth into a tight line as he regarded the red mech dubiously. "I dunno. I don't wanna leave ya, in case yer hurt."

"I won't be alone." Cool, pale optics returned Jazz's regard. "My roommate's there right now."

Jazz examined the black-crowned face for any hint subterfuge. "If y' say so."

He smiled, his optics not losing any of that cool regard. "I do, but thanks anyway."

Jazz watched the warrior walk away, admiring his backside as he went. He wondered how he would look with his rocket pack in place. Then he made a mental note to catch up with Sideswipe's roommate and make sure they were both settling in okay(and check up on Sideswipe's well-being while he was at it). What was his roommate's name?

Ah, there it was.

Sunstreaker.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

**Author's Notes** Breem 8 mins, Cycle 1 hour, Joor 6 hours, Megacycle 93 hours, Orn 2 weeks (all of these are approximations).

I haven't been doing that hot of a job keeping up with my review replies. So I want to say 'Thank you!' to everyone that I haven't replied to for showing an interest in this fic. I hope you all stick around for this little bit of mystery with Jazz, and see who figures it out what's going on first, you or him? (Though you all have a head start on Jazz at this point. -wink-) At least for Jazz this is looking to be a bit of a road to travel down.

* * *

"_Jazz, your presence is immediately required in the rec room._"

Jazz spun about on his heel, walking back the way he'd come, but hanging a left out of the officer's quarters and toward the common area. All thoughts of a relaxing shower and soak disappeared under the resounding clangs of his hurried walk through the hall. "_Whassup, Prowl?_"

An infuriated buzz filtered through the comm., and Jazz hastened into a near run. Not much could reduce Prowl to speechlessness. "_Ah, I'll see when I get there, I suppose,_" he amended, turning another corner and shouting apologies to the pair of mechs he'd nearly mowed down.

"_Appreciated._"

Jazz heard Prowl even before he saw the entrance to the rec room.

"-display of blatant immaturity and disregard for the laws set in place will not be tolerated again. If you're going to do _nothing_ but stand around while your fellow Autobots are fighting each other than you will at the least be facing time in the brig if I'm feeling charitable-"

Jazz paused at the entrance, leaning his shoulder against the threshold a moment to take in the crowd gathered in front of Prowl. The other black and white mech stood with his doorwings flared, his fists clenched at his side as his presence loomed over the other mechs, most of whom at least stood a head over him. Prowl suddenly snapped about, blue optics flaring at Jazz's grinning face. "Jazz, if you would see your team member to the medbay, so I can handle this and then speak to the perpetrator." One doorwing snapped down, directing Jazz's attention toward the couches.

Mirage met Jazz's optics, and then tilted his head down to the yellow minibot seated on the couch. Jazz moved then, concerned at the way Bumblebee wavered in place.

"I want an incident report on my desk in two joors."

"Sure thing, Prowl." Jazz ignored the irritated sigh at his informality.

Bumblebee looked up at him, optics pale, and face tight with pain. Jazz crouched low, looking the banged-up frame over. "Who the slag roughed ya up, Bee?"

"Sunstreaker," Mirage supplied when Bumblebee only managed a pained moan; optics flashing as he gently probed the small mech's thigh.

A short laugh exploded from Bumblebee's vocalizer, cut short by another pained whine. Jazz watched Mirage's careful exploration of the leg, the subtle jerks as sparks flickered underneath the plating. "What'd he do?"

"Fragger stepped on me!"

Most would be shocked to hear Bumblebee use such language, or even spit the words out in such a venomous manner. While Jazz wasn't among those, it surprised him to hear him use it over a mech only recently joined. Bumblebee had spoken loud enough that Jazz could feel the gazes of several in Prowl's crowd on his back.

"Let's get ya t' Ratch. We'll talk on th' way. Raj, I know yer concerned, but ain't ya got somewhere ya need t' be?"

Mirage should have been gone several breem ago, as a matter of fact. He frowned but stood, fading out of sight in that single motion. "I will check on you when I return, 'Bee."

Bumblebee managed a chuckle and waved in the direction of the spy. "I'll be good as new by then, Raj. Be careful out there."

"Affirmative."

Jazz's sensitive audio receptors caught the soft shuffle of feet moving over the floor, little more than light disturbances easily overpowered by Prowl's lecture. Jazz scooped the minibot up, after checking to make sure the leg was the worst of the damage. "Whatchu do t' frag him off so badly."

"Ah, well, I wasn't exactly paying attention to where I was going and ran into him." He rubbed at his head, pale optics darkening in embarrassment.

"All this cause you bumped him?" Jazz waggled his fingers to indicate the scratched and dented frame.

Bumblebee gripped his knee, trying to hold the snapped strut still. "I tripped, actually. I think I accidentally cracked his windshield. He was yelling about that when he stomped on my leg."

Jazz slid another glance toward the crowd that Prowl still lectured, knowing that the commander could be there for an entire megacycle and still not have said enough.

"Why's Prowl fritzed at everyone else?"

Grunts interrupted his speech, despite Jazz's attempts to be gentle. "They didn't do anything... the whole time." Bumblebee ducked his chin down, not letting Jazz see his face. "Too surprised."

"Then who was fightin'?"

"Mirage." The minibot hunkered down in Jazz's arms a little more as mechs stepped to the side to let them by. "I guess. He was invisible til just 'fore you came."

Jazz revved his engine, humming as he considered whether he should tell Prowl of that. He knew Prowl to hold on to infractions like that until he could get his hands on the mech responsible. It wasn't holding a grudge; it was simply the way he was. Jazz decided to file that bit of information away, rather than letting Mirage get in trouble for stepping in as he should.

He didn't let them get away with everything, but he covered his small team where he could. His duties didn't permit him the time he'd otherwise like to spend with them, and it was one of the few gestures he could make to show he appreciated their service. Especially when, morally-speaking, he thought they did the right thing.

He made the proper notations on the file in his processor as he quizzed Bumblebee on just what had transpired. Jazz was not impressed. Sunstreaker sounded like a piece of work, attacking someone practically without provocation. He hoped that this was a one-time occurrence, brought on by the uncertainty of a new command.

The medbay doors slid open to Ratchet and Wheeljack in the middle of a conversation.

"-there's going to come a time when Prime's going to order it, I'm telling you Ratch, it's a thing of the past."

"How will we be able to help patients if they think they can't trust us? I really don't see Optimus doing away with patient confidentiality. We might be at war, but our mechs still have rights." Tools clinked down onto a tray as Ratchet sorted through his collection. He waved Jazz toward a berth already surrounded by a collection of equipment. "Put him down over there, Jazz."

"Prowl tell ya what happened, Ratch?"

Ratchet snapped a glare at Jazz. "_Don't_ call me that." He looked back to the cupboard, pulling down another tool. "Yes, he did. Not even out for two full cycles and that idiot's already causing trouble."

Jazz carefully set Bumblebee onto the berth, pausing as he processed Ratchet's words. "Two cycles? I thought he's been out for a megacycle at least."

Ratchet's vocalizer buzzed and he turned, picking the tray up and carrying it to Bumblebee's side. "You'd think I would slagging well know how long he was in my med bay, shouldn't I?" Ratchet leveled a glare at Jazz. "He was in deep stasis then, I only just had the chance to repair him."

Black hands eased the yellow minibot prone on the berth. "Didn't he get out round the same time as 'Swipe?"

"Swipe?" Wheeljack murmured, still fiddling with the instrument in front of him.

"Sideswipe wasn't nearly as badly damaged. I was getting the less serious out so I could deal with Sunstreaker." The scowl set on Ratchet's face revealed the seriousness of Sunstreaker's injuries. "You can leave, Jazz, your team member will function to fight another day. Shut down 'Bee."

Jazz squeezed Bumblebee's shoulder, giving the minibot a reassuring smile in spite of himself. "Was Sunshine online at all before 'Swipe left?"

Ratchet frowned at Jazz, bemused by the questions. "Would you bring someone online when they're missing a leg and their pelvic cradle is attached by a few wires?" Ratchet nodded toward the intensive care corner of the med bay. "He was lying over there since he came in with Top Gear."

Jazz's fingers rapped against his thigh and he pressed his lips into a mild frown. "Thanks Ratch." With that he turned and strode out of the medbay, heading for his private washracks. When Ratchet finished repairing Bumblebee, Jazz would finish questioning him for the requested report. He'd probably have to include punishment of some kind for the incident if Prowl was in a really foul mood(he hated assigning any of his mechs a punishment detail).

Two joor.

Then he would go speak to someone about being untruthful to _him_.

* * *

Jazz sat at his normal seat by the bar, chatting with Crush over a cube of midgrade. He countered the architect's advice on one of their favorite games with tips of his own, laughing over the mistakes they both made in their last round.

Sideswipe sat in a corner, glaring at anyone that looked his way. Despite his unpleasant demeanor, Jazz was pleased to see that his optics had reverted to the normal Autobot blue rather than a disconcerting pale. He finished up his conversation with Crush, agreeing to meet after duty for a game of Bar None. Crush left, and Jazz requested a refill from the bartender.

The mechs around the room seemed to ignore the lone warrior indolently sipping from his cube. Jazz didn't hesitate to stride right up to Sideswipe and slam his own cube down on the table, shocking the warrior into looking at him.

The red mech's surprise quickly molded into a glare. "You aren't here to blame me for what that idiot Sunstreaker did, are you? 'Cause if you are, then you can walk right back over to your normal seat by the bar."

"Nah, man, y' ain't responsible for what Sunny does, any more 'n he is for what you do." Jazz tugged the cube Sideswipe had lifted to his lips down. "But y' are responsible fer yer own actions, an' I'm actually a little steamed that y' lied t' me." From the surprise on the mech's face, Jazz knew he didn't understand. "Yer roommate? He was in the med bay, when y' told me he was in yer room.

Narrowed optics regarded Jazz and a frown creased Sideswipe's face. "Suppose I didn't know?"

"It hadn't even been two joors since Ratchet released ya, an' Sunstreaker was still in _intensive_ care. How could you not know?"

Sideswipe lifted the cube to his lips again, hiding whatever expression his face held, but his narrow optics gave some clue to what thoughts sparked along his pathways. He set the cube back down, his gaze still locked on Jazz. "I don't need you coddling me. I'm not a sparkling," he finally growled after a few moments of silence.

"Showin' concern ain't coddlin'," Jazz snapped. "Concerns whatcha show a friend." He took a drink from his cube, needing a moment to calm himself. "I'd like to think we're friends." Jazz stared at Sideswipe, waiting for the inevitable challenge to that statement.

Sideswipe peered at the black and white mech from under the edge of his helm and did not disappoint Jazz. "You barely know me, how can you call me 'friend?'"

"Well," Jazz rapped his fingertips on the tabletop, though he didn't need to even think that one over. He had a ready answer for just such a situation. "We're both Autobots, so that's a start. I mean if y' were really bad, y'd be a Decepticon, right?"

Sideswipe stared at him, unblinking for a whole breem. Then he suddenly burst out laughing, sliding down in his seat as he threw his head back with a hearty guffaw. Jazz frowned, trying to understand what was so amusing.

"'Swipe?"

"I'd be a Decepticon…" Sideswipe finally managed, vocalizer still bursting with laughter. "Oh, Jazz, that's too funny. Decepticons! Ah, Primus! I need to tell- ahahahahahaha!"

The saboteur continued his bemused regard of the red mech. "Am I missin' somethin'?"

Sideswipe looked at Jazz, only to start another round of raucous laughter. At last he managed to calm down enough to be intelligible. "It's just that everyone has always told us-me that w-I belong in the Decepticons. Just ask Prowl." He chortled again, taking a sip from his cube.

"Y'keep sayin' 'we' an' 'us', who else're ya talkin' about?"

"Uh… my-uh- roommate, Sunstreaker."

Jazz pinched his mouth down to keep from frowning. "Ain't that funny. Now, I haven't met the mech, he keeps a lot to himself," not to mention that he'd only been out and about for one joor out of the seventeen he'd been on the base, "but it seems to me that dear ole Sunshine's a tad more Decepticon-inclined." The black and white mech set his cube down. "What d' ya think?"

A grin showed past the nearly empty cube that hid Sideswipe's lips. "I think if he hears you call him that, he'll beat the circuits outta ya."

"See? That's exactly what I mean. No Autobot would do that." Jazz nodded toward the smallest member of his team. "I mean, look what he did t' 'Bee, for what? Scratching his paint?" Well, maybe a little more than a scratch, but the point remained.

Sideswipe stood, his optics dim, his expression thunderous. "Shows what you know." His long stride had almost carried him to the entrance before Jazz had realized what had happened. The remaining mechs watched the red mech storm out of the rec room, glancing toward Jazz in surprise.

Somehow he'd offended the red mech and Jazz didn't quite know how, or why.

What the slag?

He stood, downing the last of his energon and disposed of the cube with a surge of energy. He ignored the other mechs, intent on Sideswipe as he strode out of the rec room after the warrior. A quick check with Teletraan revealed that Sideswipe was in the training room (how'd he get there so fast?) and so Jazz hurried in that direction.

There was something going on with that red mech, and Jazz was determined to find out what. He hadn't seen such a tightly held secret since Mirage had first been dragged in. It had taken the saboteur a good twenty orns to pry anything out of the mech. And a whole vorn to convince him that no one was going to judge him for his past. The neutrals and pseudo-Autobots had done a number on any mech that used to hold any amount of status or wealth. It was usually a bit of a shock for any of that unlucky lot to then ally themselves with a _true_ Autobot unit.

Mirage now played an active role in uncovering any of those pretenders and revealing them for the liars that they were and helping any who'd fallen into their snare back on their figurative feet.

Some of these pseudo-groups mutineed over their worthless leader(s) and officially joined the ranks of the Autobots. There were unconfirmed reports that these units still practiced things not tolerated under Autobot law.

Doldrum had been one suspect commander.

Jazz approached the training room, pressing the controls to open the door. A flash of gold turned a corner down the hall, but it wasn't red so Jazz ignored it.

The door whooshed open, releasing a cacophony of metal striking metal and the screaming of laser fire. Jazz stepped through the doorway, letting them shut behind him. His gaze swept the room, pausing each time he spotted red paint. No rocket packs, however.

Sideswipe wasn't here.

Odd.

Jazz patched into Teletraan again, requesting a locater beacon for Sideswipe.

:No Reading Within Sensor Limits:

Which meant Sideswipe had either picked up a cloaking device that rivaled Mirage's (unlikely) or he'd left the base for the nearby civilian encampment.

How was this mech moving so fast?


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

**Author's Notes** Even though I have more written of this fic, I'm quite likely gonna sit on it to make sure I can pick out any plotholes/inconsistencies/empty space. I'd also like to dedicate some time to finish off the finale of Star Crossed (even though there's still the next actual chapter to write as well, but the finale would be a big plus. The longer I sit on it, the better it'll hopefully be, if I can even handle looking at it again XD). I also hope this is the longest chapter of this fic. 10,000 word chapters in Star Crossed is quite enough, muse, tyvm.

Shall we say this is before Sideswipe has received his piledriver upgrade? ;)

I appreciate every favorite, alert, and review that I receive. I don't say it enough and I apologize for that. Thank you, everyone for your support.

* * *

Jazz sauntered toward the medbay, in no rush as he knew Prowl was still finishing up last minute paper work. The doors to Ratchet's domain loomed and suddenly snapped open just as Jazz's sensors detected an echo through the metal. Sideswipe ducked out, as though pursued by ravenous tinturkeys, or perhaps tools being thrown at his head. Or tinturkeys painted white and red with notoriously accurate throwing arms. Jazz narrowly avoided being mowed over by the red mech.

"Whoa there Siders, we need t' stop runnin' inta each other like this." Jazz steadied the red mech, grinning up at the mech's surprised face. He caught a glimpse of red and white

Sideswipe grinned back. 'Well, sorry, but anyone would want to run into this glorious body. That _is_ why I'm called 'Sideswipe' you know." He smile broadened and he winked at Jazz.

Jazz laughed. "Someone's got an ego."

Sideswipe tilted his head in a small shrug, his grin diminishing slightly though his optics still shone brightly. "I've had lots of practice."

"Whatcha gettin' kicked outta medbay for?" Jazz paused, processing that a moment. "Why're ya even in medbay?"

"Routine stuff. Ratchet hadn't had the chance to pull my medical records yet, so he hollered at me to come down. Then he suddenly kicked me out." The warrior's face scrunched up, apparently not appreciating Ratchet's method of removal. "I have no idea why. Thought I heard the door open, but…" He shrugged a shoulder. He glanced down at Jazz suddenly. "So why're you here?"

"Got some stuff t' deal with." Jazz backed away, giving the mech a critical look and changing the subject to something less classified. "Where'd ya disappear to last shift change?"

Sideswipe's optics dimmed with embarrassment. "Ah, I went down to the city." He rubbed at his audio horns looking down at the floor. He grimaced, glancing at Jazz out of the corner of his optics. "Sorry about running out on you like that."

Jazz waved it off, though he hoped in time the young mech would trust him enough to talk on his own. "Touchy subject. I can get that. Ya gotta show me how ya disappeared like that sometime, though."

"Disap-?" It was Sideswipe's turn to give Jazz a critical stare. "What'd you do? Hack into the tracking system?" His mischevious grin accompanied the light tease in his tone.

Jazz grinned back. "Nah, why'd I need to do that?"

"Sideswipe don't you have duties to attend to?"

Sideswipe spun about, optics widening upon seeing the unit commander. Prowl stood at the end of the corrider, doorwings idly flicking in spite of his stern expression. He tilted his head, waiting patiently.

Sideswipe straightened, optics dimming. "Yes, sir." The red mech gave Jazz a sympathetic look. "Talk to you later, I hope, Jazz." He flashed a smile before turning down the corridor.

"I'll be around, Swipe."

Prowl approached Jazz, his optics still on the red mech. "Hmm..."

"What 'hmm'?"

"Hmm, I think you have accepted another challenge." Prowl paused by Jazz, glancing down the hall and standing in silence until Sideswipe turned the corner.

Jazz cringed, only to smooth his face when Prowl looked his way. Prowl had more on his processor than Jazz's social habits.

"Jazz, I appreciate that you're willing to look out for your team members, but I would also appreciate being told when they're involved in an altercation with another member of my unit."

"Aw, snap, ya figured that out?"

Prowl turned an amused frown on the executive officer. "It was not hard to deduce the cause of Sunstreaker's sudden dents and scratches when he could not see an assailant."

Jazz snickered, then sombered as Prowl keyed a code into the door's control panel. "Does Sunshine know?"

Prowl tilted a look at Jazz. "I believe I have dealt with enough altercations in the past few megacycles."

The door slid open, the lights in the control panel fading from green to red and they stepped through the threshold and into Ratchet's domain. Prowl flicked his doorwings at Ratchet in greeting as he led Jazz toward one of the private rooms in the back.

"You will also find a pile of reports that need your attention in your office when we're done here."

Jazz sputtered, freezing midstep to stare at Prowl, jaw hanging loose. "Whatever for?"

Prowl only paused a moment as he keyed in his override for the private room, tossing a tight-lipped smile over his shoulder. "Certainly if you're willing to cover for you team members, you can also cover their punishment detail."

Jazz covered his face, groaning at the thought of sitting still staring at stupid slagging reports for Primus-knew-how-long.

Thoughts of Sideswipe's unusual ability disappeared faced with a joor of relentless datawork and Mirage sitting in the room before them, waiting to be debriefed.

* * *

Somewhere in the distance he could make out the whistle of missiles being loosed. Even half a mile away, the explosions rocked the building he was slowly climbing. Occasionally the roar of engines gave him enough warning to freeze and hope Wheeljack's field dampener worked. He could have taken the access ladders, but that way was probably watched. Too many mechs entered and left the building's entrances to trust getting in that way. That left plan C.

Jazz had done this too many times to count. Decepticons create a new super weapon. The Autobots find out about it. Jazz was sent to disable it.

It was almost like clockwork.

This time however something was making Jazz feel ill at ease. He'd felt that way since he'd last seen Prowl after Bumblebee had returned from his part in the operation. The tactician hadn't wanted to listen to 'base programming;' if it couldn't be quantified, he paid it no heed.

The saboteur pulled himself onto the roof of the building. He crouched, not daring to belly crawl along the abrasive stone. The shadows were his allies, and he thanked the will of Primus that the Decepticons stupidly hadn't learned about open spaces.

He maneuvered around the guards; stalking their shadows as he moved from vent to massive antennae to the power relays.

The massive cylinder that was supposed to be the 'Con's new toy stood out amidst the more rectangular objects on the roof. Light painted the cannon a silver that shimmered with power.

He approached it, doing his level best to ignore the uncertainty twitching at his limbs. _'It's just mission jitters_,' he told himself.

Except that he hadn't suffered from mission jitters since his first hundred vorns on the job.

He slipped around the final obstacle, and came face to muzzle with the wrong end of an arm canon.

"Looks like Soundwave was right. We do have a visitor."

Jazz clicked his mouth close, his gaze sliding up the barrel of the gun to the black and purple Seeker wielding it.

"Looking for something, Autobot?" Red optics burned brightly down at the saboteur.

Black fingers scraped over the stone roof, drawing the gaze of Skywarp.

Stupid, arrogant Decepticon.

The saboteur flung his arm up, knocking the arm cannon away. He pulled a handful of flash grenades out of subspace and tossed them at the seeker.

The grenades went off; an explosion of white light. Skywarp covered his optics, wailing as the flash blinded him.

Jazz's visor protected his optics, having already darkened to filter out the coming light. He lunged forward, knocking the Decepticon to the ground. He still had a job to do. All attempts at concealment abandoned; he made a dash for the cylindrical roof canon.

A golden turbohawk swept down, raucous cry splitting the silence. Laser fire pelted Jazz's back, burning his light armor. The field dampener overloaded, and exploded, sending sparks shooting out from under Jazz's bumper. He staggered, catching himself on the barrel of the canon.

His hand jerked away, as though burned. No canon that's about to rain death and destruction on a battlefield would be _that_ cold.

Aw, fraggit!

"_It's a trap!_"

He could only hope that his transmission reached its destination. The dead static he received was not reassuring. Neither were the engines droning above him.

He had only an astrosecond's warning to leap away from the decoy before missiles struck where he'd been standing.

The black and purple Seeker jumped up and transformed, calling to the black and blue jet that had shot the rockets.

Jazz hissed out of his vents, dashing across the roof and dodging the Seeker's strafing run. He twisted and leapt and turned, crashing into obstacles scattered across the roof in his effort to dodge the laserfire. Still he knew they were achieving their goal.

They had him trapped on the roof and weren't letting him anywhere near the edges.

The rooftop shook with a distant explosion, and even from here Jazz could see the light of the blast. His fuel tank swirled as he watched the area that his comrades had been in light up like a Supreme's headlamp.

The sound of engines roared from a few streets down and drew Jazz's attention. The golden turbohawk swooped down again, extending claws that raked at his face. He threw his arm up, batting at the crazy machine as it came at him again and again.

"Get away from me ya crazy bird!"

"Autobot: desist."

Jazz froze, his circuits fusing in cold fear as that voice rolled over him.

He didn't know the owner of the voice. He'd never met Megatron's new intelligence officer.

However the cold fuel in his tank, and the sensation of glitch mice crawling over his canopy told him that here was a Decepticon telepath, a powerful one. It had been a long, long time since Jazz had last encountered a Decepticon telepath.

It had cost him his team, and given him the promotion to the head of the Special Ops unit. He slagging _hated_ telepaths with a passion he normally only found for music.

He made sure to process that a second time. '_The last time I met one of ya, I turned him into a shredded piece of art._'

"History: irrelevant. Surrender: expected."

Thoughts of the gray sky before dawn running through his processor, he slapped a few shrapnel grenades from subspace. He turned, his concentration on the turbohawk floating down to the waiting blue arm. On the growing whine of encroaching engines.

"Block: remove. Mind: open."

"I'll never open up t' ya fragging Deceptislag!" His arm swung in an arc.

"Surrender: demanded."

Jazz released the grenades, launching himself the other way. "Surrender this!"

The grenades exploded thirty astroseconds after he released and activated them. Shrapnel rained down in tiny needles that found their way into his armor. They cut through circuitry and interrupted data flow. Sensors ceased functioning throughout his legs and he hastily redirected the command lines through other circuits. The last thing he wanted was to be paralyzed in easy reach of that Decepticon.

A roar rumbled through the building and for a moment he thought it was the aftershock, which meant the blast was larger than it had appeared. Which meant that his friends, his comrades...

He had thought it was jet engines, that never-ceasing whine.

"Get your aft over here, Jazz! I don't have much juice!" Laserfire pelted down from the sky, striking around the Decepticon telepath.

Jazz looked up and saw a blur of red in the midst of the smoke and dust. "Sideswipe?" He tilted his head, attention briefly diverted by a soft sound that sent shivers through his frame.

"One and only! Prowl's calling a retreat, the Cons apparently moved that nice cannon you were supposed to be after." The red and black mech dropped to the rooftop, staggering as the building shifted under his weight. Dents pockmarked his armor, so deep that the metal tore.

Jazz grabbed the mech's white upper arm, trying to find a place that wasn't burnt or missing a panel. "We can't go."

Blue optics stared down at him in surprise. "What the frag are you talking about? We can't stay. This place's coming down."

"Don't you hear it?" Even though he'd only recently recognized it himself, he knew they couldn't leave. "There's screamin' down there. We can't go."

The red mech fired another round at the Decepticon, jerking his arm out of Jazz's grasp in a single smooth motion. "Frag that. I ain't stayin'."

"They're civilians, we gotta help them." Jazz grabbed the red mech's wrist, wrenching the warrior back around.

"You can help them. I didn't sign up to help civvies."

Jazz's grip tightened, preventing the larger mech from freeing his arm. "Yer an Autobot!"

Optics blazing, Sideswipe yanked his hand away again. "Yeah, I'm an Autobot. One who plans on making it back to camp in one piece."

Jazz shook his head once, watching the Decepticon fly away with a damaged turbohawk. He could feel the telepath's withdrawal like the disengaging of a program. But he had no time to relax. He grabbed the red mech again, yanking him around to shove a finger against the insignia stickered to his chest plate. "Do ya see that red face? That means we go help those civilians. Now, come on before this building topples."

Sideswipe glowered but followed Jazz rappelling down the side of the building with his own rocket pack. The saboteur swung through a window, moving aside to let the warrior slide in behind him.

"Alright, so where's it coming from?" Sideswipe glared around the empty room that had only recently been teeming with Decepticons.

Jazz paused to listen, tilting his head to catch every sound. He pulled on the hatch attached to the warrior's shoulder, guiding the red mech down a series of stairwells, since he didn't trust the lifts to be in working order. He followed the sounds to a small doubleset doorway.

The saboteur pressed his shoulder to the door, listening to the sudden quiet. Above the groans of the building, he made out the soft scrape of shifting bodies. He rapped the door with his knuckles, wincing as the building moaned and shifted again. "Hey, anybody in there?"

The buzz of communication passed through the door; trembling through his fingers and lighting sensors designed to pick up transmissions on nearly any frequency. Even without understanding the words that were being spoken, he recognized the patterns of an argument.

"Hey! This buildin's comin' down. Are ya in there or not?"

Fists suddenly began pounding on the closed door. Screams and cries for help rattled his audio sensors. Jazz jerked away from the door and his gaze swept over to the control pad.

The panel hung free, cold wires sticking out every which way. Sideswipe stepped aside as the officer brushed past him to pull out more wires as he tried to hack the door controls. He worked swiftly, and still the building shuddered, intensifying the rate of poundings and screams.

He felt Sideswipe's calculating regard on his canopy until a third groan came from the building.  
The warrior's feet suddenly pounded on the floor and he flung himself at the doors.

"What are ya doin', man? Are ya crazy?" Jazz didn't tear his gaze away from the wires in his hand as he yelled at Sideswipe. The larger mech bounced off the door and ran a few steps back. He charged again. "This buildings about to collapse, and yer bouncin' around like it's a carnival or somethin'!"

"We don't have time for you to -unh," he grunted as he slammed into the door a third time, "hack dead lines."

"That's trilythium steel, ya can't just bust it down like that." Jazz winced as he heard something give, hoping it was from the door and not the red mech.

Sideswipe staggered back, shaking the impact off for another rush at the immobile door. "Then a little help, if you don't mind, Jazz." He went back a little further this time, and charged the door, amazingly spry for someone who looked like he'd run headfirst into Prime. At full speed.

Jazz threw himself forward, pushing off the wall to give weight to his lunge. They impacted on the steel door together, and Jazz knew he'd damaged something. The groan from the red mech told him that the warrior had also injured himself. Still, Sideswipe slammed his hands onto the door, prying at a small crevice, and Jazz dug his own fingers in. Together they pulled on a door, until they had mechs and femmes pouring out of the other room.

The original residents of the building huddled together, optics flaring in distress. The last one, and obvious leader of the hostages, pulled a damaged mech along, arm slung over his shoulder. He limped under the weight of the other mech,but spared a nod toward Jazz and Sideswipe.

"Thank you! We didn't think we'd make it out of there."

Jazz pressed his lips together, but managed a reassuring smile for the frightened civilians. "This is what we do. Ain't no problem."

The half-conscious green and yellow mech staggered along, his optics dim. Laser burns riddled his torso, and it was apparent to Jazz that this one was used as an example, and as he glanced into the room for any other survivors, he saw cold corpses inside, their bodies burnt, broken. Examples who hadn't lived. In comparison Sideswipe looked worse off, but he was built for the punishment and he had the armor for it.

Sideswipe, his optics dim and narrowed, braced himself on an arm against the door. "I'll take that one, you're damaged yourself." He pushed himself off of his support and took the damaged mech from the neutral.

Jazz paused, frown on his face as he noticed the warrior's pale optics. "'Swipe?" He looked the warrior's shoulder over, noting the awkward angle of the arm, and the new dent in mag plate.

It shouldn't have been enough to cause such a reaction though.

Sideswipe glared at Jazz, apparently deducing the reason for the officer's concern. "It's nothing. Let's get out of here." As if on cue the building trembled again, listing to one side.

Everyone froze, waiting for the building to settle. Then they rushed down the stairs. Jazz tried to recall how high up they were. He hadn't exactly been of a mind to count the floors he passed when he ascended the building. Every time the building moaned and shifted they froze until it stopped and then they ran again. Jazz looked out the windows unable to see any other building close enough to throw a line at on the northern and western sides and still expect everyone to make it across in a timely manner.

Much sooner than the last time, the building groaned again.

He looked at all the survivors. They didn't have time to follow the stairways down, they had to grapple across. The southern side of the building faced the street. It had to be the eastern or the northern side, regardless of distance.

The groaning continued.

It decided Jazz.

The complex shifted under his feet as he ran for a northern window, smashing it open with the butt of his gun. He hoped that it wasn't also the direction the building they were in would fall He exchanged his hand for the grappling hook, firing it at the ledge of a window on the next building over. He reeled the line in, until it jolted taut.

Jazz turned to the de facto leader of the survivors. "You guys've gotta cross now!" Blank optics stared at him, then turned to the neighboring buliding. "I know it's a long climb, but we don' have no choice. Tell yer people to move!"

The nameless neutral froze only for an astrosecond more before he ushered the first forward, a light-framed minibot and helped him onto Jazz's line.

One after another, with just enough space to keep from breaking the line, or pulling Jazz (and Sideswipe, who braced him) down, the survivors made their way to the other building. The damaged mech went across with one of the others, and the bots who waited added their weight to Jazz and Sideswipe's anchor. The building continued it's slow, moaning lean, forcing Jazz to adjust the line.

The two Autobots dug their feet in, gouging the floor with the edges of their toe joints, taking on the weight of an extra mech to expedite the evacuation. Sideswipe's pale optics flickered with pain, his ventilator hissing with the effort of cooling his overworked systems, but his grip remained tight around Jazz's chassis.

"Making sure the Autobots keep their good name?" Sideswipe suddenly grunted, scowl on his face as he carefully shifted his fingers.

"What?"

"Playing the hero? Keeping up the face? Whatever you want to call it, that why you're doing this?" The warrior didn't even look at Jazz as he spoke, concentrating on keeping them from sliding forward as the next mech, a heavy carrier mode by all appearances, took his place on the line.

"The slag is your problem, Sides?" Jazz ground his dental plates, vocalizer fritzing with power surges. "This is what Autobots _do_."

The structure gave a sudden lurch, and Sideswipe widened his stance, taking more of the weight from Jazz. "Sure," the word spat out of his vocalizer with all of the distaste he couldn't put in his expression.

"Ain't the time nor th' place, Sides." The last of the survivors went out the window, and Jazz watched his inexorably slow crawl to the other building.

"Of course," the warrior buzzed.

Jazz spared Sideswipe a glance as the mech reached the midway point.

One final groan grated out of the building, and the floor didn't stop moving.

Sideswipe grabbed at Jazz as they were both jerked off their feet. The line lurched, jumping erratically as the structure began it's fall. Jazz played his line, trying to keep it steady for the mech to finish crossing.

"Reel us in," Sideswipe shouted, gathering Jazz into his arms. The rocket on his back roared to life, launching them both out of the moving window. Jazz pulled in the line as fast as he could, other arm wrapped around Sideswipe's neck.

The other window disappeared from sight, and Jazz watched their windowframe pull the line. He hoped the mech made it safely. Sideswipe tucked his chin down, hurtling forward. He misjudged, striking the side of the window. Metal scraped and banged against concrete, as the warrior plowed through, sending down a shower of powder and chunks.

Sideswipe spun out of control for a brief astrosecond. It was all that was needed for him to slam into the neighboring building and knock his pack offline for another brief astrosecond.

Jazz's vision fritzed from the force of the impact, and the world shook from the collapse of the other building. When it cleared, the mech on his line was no longer there, and they were falling, systems whirring to compensate for the loss of gravity. He braced his arm, watching the line snake down until it suddenly snapped tight, wrenching his shoulder and elbow. Something snapped and Jazz screamed, clutching Sideswipe's reeling form as they swung, the ground still an unsafe distance away. He had no control over their descent, unable to see past the billowing dust and smoke. They slammed into the wall, bouncing off it and spinning erratically. Back, elbows, knees, they kept hitting the wall, sharing the impacts. Jazz could no longer tell whether they were going left or right, swinging up, or down.

Sideswipe's optics onlined briefly, only to darken again as he wrapped his arms and legs tightly around the saboteur's body. Jazz couldn't move with the warrior twined about him, but he couldn't get his vocalizer to work either. It was too busy buzzing with groans and static. It felt like every part of him that didn't have a Toughline attached to it ached with dents, and scratches, or tears. With Sideswipe dragging at his shoulders and waist, he managed to free an arm. Every time they hit the building Jazz grabbed for a hold, trying to stop their erratic swinging.

When Sideswipe joined him in grabbing at the wall, they finally managed to stop themselves. The world still spun about him as his equilibrium sensors attempted to adjust to their stillness. No longer moving, and without the power surges from the excitement, the warrior's weight was painful on his arm. His shoulders and back burned from exposed circuitry. Yet all he could do was hang there, cooling his systems with gulps of the clogged air.

"Can you pull us up?" Sideswipe groaned, forehead pressed against the building.

Jazz needed a few more moments to calibrate his systems before he tried to reel the line in. He couldn't get a response from that system. He banged his head back into the building, glaring up at the hazy sky. "No."

The warrior lifted his head, dust covering his face and blinking to wipe his optics clear. "I think our friends left." Sideswipe tightened his arms, and let go with his legs. He braced his feet on the building and slowly walked them toward a window. Jazz felt every movement as it pulled and jarred his arm. Even though the warrior still clung to the black and white mech, Jazz felt like Sideswipe was the only reason he wasn't falling.

The warrior peered cautiously into the window, and then stood on top of it and together they smashed through. Sideswipe climbed in first, never letting go of Jazz. He held the saboteur's knees to keep him from swinging away while they both puzzled over the taut line still attached some distance up.

"I'm gonna have to cut it. I still ain't gettin' a response."

Sideswipe leaned out of the window even further, working his grip up Jazz's leg and working his fingers into the black waist. "I've got you."

An energon blade appeared in the saboteur's hand, and he reached up to saw at the line. The blade glowed a dull pink through the clouded sky, and Jazz felt like he couldn't clear his ventilators of the permeating dust. The line slowly gave, and Sideswipe tightened his grip, metal bending under his fingers. Sideswipe gave a mighty tug just as Jazz sliced through the last of the metal cabling, yanking them into the building. They spilled across the floor in a messy sprawl, with Jazz landing on top of the warrior.

They lay there for a long breem, both huffing dusty puffs from their ventilators. The saboteur finally shoved himself off of Sideswipe with his good arm, rolling to his back. Trembles racked his servos, drained from the sudden lack of power surges.

"Whooo-ee, that was almost as fun as Jet Judo!" A groan rumbled from the mech's engine, despite his soft chuckle. "Can we do that again sometime, Jazz?"

Jazz slogged his way through Sideswipe's far too exuberant words. "Jet- wha?"

"Jet- oh never mind." Another groan sounded from Sideswipe. "I don't think I wanna move anytime soon."

"I'm there wit' ya." Jazz frowned contemplatively. "I sure wish I knew whether they grabbed that last one or not, though. I'd hate t' think of what could'a happened if they hadn't."

Metal scraped as Sideswipe shifted to angle a harsh stare at the saboteur, his helmet as scratched as the rest of him."You don't have to keep the face up with me, Jazz."

Jazz lifted his head to blink in surprise at the Toughline "Don't have t' what?"

The warrior glared at the ceiling. "The face. You don't have to keep it up with me. It's okay. I don't really care what happened to the slaggers either." A frown pinched the corners of his lips down. "I don't really care about what happens to anyone." His pale optics turned back to Jazz. "And if you don't either, then you shouldn't have to pretend."

Jazz rolled to his side, off of the exposed and sensitive sensors on his canopy. His processor whirled as he tried to puzzle out the red mech's meaning. "Yer talkin' crazy. It ain't a face, 'Swipe. I do care." The look on Sideswipe's face sent an eerie chill through his spark, as though the warrior didn't believe him, or maybe even was incapable of comprehending that kind of compassion.

What had Doldrum's unit done to this young mech?

"_Prowl to Jazz, do you read me?_" Jazz's internal communicator chirped to life with the tactician's calm-as-always voice.

He activated his side of the communication, putting it on speaker and talking aloud for the warrior's benefit. "S'up?"

A small sound of annoyance rumbled through the speakers. "_Jazz, we are not the only officers on this channel, would you at least _attempt_ to sound professional?_"

He caught the widening of the warrior's optics, and the movement of his lips as Sideswipe mouthed the word 'officers' in surprise.

"Prime says he don't care, an' Ratch ain't any better."

Prowl made a sound of electronic exasperation."_Is Sideswipe with you?_" The expectant tone let Jazz know that Prowl already knew the answer, but was asking out of courtesy.

"Yeah, I'm here," Sideswipe said without much enthusiasm.

"_Good. Jazz can you meet us at rendesvous point 25?_"

Jazz checked his diagnostic readings, his arm laying unresponsive at his side. "It'll be a long walk fer me."

A pause as Prowl considered that, almost unnoticeable except by those who knew him. "_Does Sideswipe not know basic repair?_

A groan preceded the warrior's words as he pushed himself up. "I know it."

"_Do what you can for Jazz._" Prowl's tone of voice broached no argument from the red mech. "_Jazz, if you are still unable to make it here in haste, radio in and I will send someone to pick you up._" He wasn't that much more lenient on the saboteur either. The line hissed as Prowl closed his side of the communication.

Sideswipe was quiet as he dragged himself to his knees. "He would have left those bots."

Jazz watched the mech crawl over to him, favoring his damaged arm and wincing as his legs dragged along the ground. "Who? Prowl?" He drew closer, letting Jazz see the long scratches over what remained of his paint Jazz suspected that he had a very Sleektilt shape to his paint now

A med kit appeared in the warrior's hand and he popped the lid on it, setting it down next to the saboteur. "Yeah. Perfect example of Autobot caring. Didn't even ask if we were okay."

Jazz composed his face as the warrior began working on his damaged arm, sending tendrils of pain throughout receptors he couldn't turn off. "Well, look at it from his point of view." His vocalizer caught and hissed, buzzing with grunts and groans as he tried to ignore what Sideswipe was doing to his arm. "We answer, ergo we're functioning. We can reach the rendezvous point, ergo we're not heavily damaged. It's illogical to ask a question he... hnn..." Jazz had to stop as Sideswipe hit a sensor node in his elbow. "What're ya doin', man?" he hissed.

"Sorry," Sideswipe didn't stop tugging at Jazz's arm as he spoke, "I'm trying to get your joint back together."

"Shouldn't you leave that to a medic?"

Sideswipe waved off the suggestion. "I've got it. You were saying."

Jazz had to search his memory for a moment before he recalled. "It's illogical to ask a question he can extrapolate an answer to. He cares, he just ain't that good at showin' it."

Primus knows he'd had a conniption when he'd first heard of Prowl doing that to one of his team members. Then Prowl had the gall to visit Mirage in the med bay to receive the report personally. Until Ironhide and Ratchet had explained the reason behind it, and how it tied into Prowl's cold-sparked success as a tactician. Unhappily this had been after he had already given Prowl holy hell over the matter several joors before.

It had been a very apologetic Jazz that approached the tactician later in the megacycle. Prowl had listened to Jazz's apology with his normal stern expression. He then told Jazz that if the saboteur wanted to make it up, he could start by cleaning section 82 for insubordination to a ranking officer.

Jazz had been puzzling just how he could fit that into his schedule when he was hit by a realization. Ankmor, for whatever insane reason, had section 81 and 83, somehow or another 82 had been misplaced or mislabeled. He'd stormed back into Prowl's office and told the tactician that if he wanted section 82 cleaned, then he could damned well clean it himself. After which he stormed back out, but not before he saw the slight tilt of Prowl's mouth.

"Turn over, let me see your canopy."

Sideswipe's voice brought Jazz back from his recollection. Pain still radiated from his arm, but he could finally turn off the receptors in that area, and flex his hands. "Nah, 'Swipe. I'm good to go. Let's get goin' 'fore Prowl leaves us." Jazz rolled to his feet, ignoring the aches and objections from his body. He looked over Sideswipe's dented and scraped form, taking in the all too pale optics. "Will you be okay until we get back to base camp?"

Sideswipe huffed, rising to his feet, though he moved with the care of one who was more damaged than he let on. "I'll be fine. How many times do I have to say it?"

"Ok. Far be it from me for keeping Hatchet from yellin' at ya." Jazz glanced out the window. "How likely would it be for ya rocket pack to be in workin' order."

Sideswipe didn't even hesitate with a diagnostic. "Not at all. There's a leak in it, and I'm not turning it back on til that's fixed."

"Guess we gotta find some stairs then."

"Lead the way, _sir._"

Jazz paused to look at the warrior, surprised at the anger that seemed to snap out with that last word. Sideswipe regarded him with his normal cool, neutrality, giving no indication to his meaning.

The saboteur finally turned, searching his databanks for the layout of all the buildings near his target. He was certain he had them in case he needed to improvise his plan on the spot. He had just never expected to have to use one as an evacuation route.


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

**Author's Notes**: I feel like the story's going slowly at this point, but much of this is needed for one reason or another. Especially for the Jazz/Sideswipe interaction.

...I just realized this is one giant scene...

Something else I don't say often, but see any spelling and/or grammar errors, feel free to point them out. The same with characterization. Thank you!

* * *

Hastily erected structures spoke of just how suddenly the Autobots had been forced to retreat. The tarp-covered entrances didn't only serve as a sensor shield, but stood as the only markers of what building led to which unit and task force. The meaning of the markers changed every metacycle in an effort to make it more difficult an infiltrator to locate any specific target. Jazz led the way through the neatly disarrayed piles of supplies, scattered throughout the streets. He was careful not to touch any of them, the supply officers often laid booby-traps in the midst of a pile, and only they knew how to disarm it.

Sideswipe veered off to one side, squeezing into an alleyway and transforming. He stumbled as he straightened, catching himself on a nearby wall.

Jazz snapped to his feet, crossing the few steps between them and steadying the warrior. "Dude, where're you going?"

Sideswipe swayed unsteadily, his pale optics flickering as he tried to move away from the saboteur. "Somewhere to lie down until Cybertron stops spinning."

The saboteur tugged him away from the piles of supplies and leaned the warrior against a building. "Why didn't ya say somethin' if y' were damaged that badly!"

"Wouldn't have done much good if I had," he groaned, leaning his head back. "Besides, not much can be done about it, except to wait for it to get better." Sideswipe shoved himself off the wall, flinching as he straightened. "Which is exactly what I'm about to do."

"Oh, no ya don't!" Jazz stopped him, clenching wires within the red and black mech's elbow joint. "You are goin' to see Ratchet. Does he know about yer little," Jazz paused searching for the right word, "glitch?"

Sideswipe glared down at Jazz's hand, a pinched frown on his face. His pale optics shuttered for a moment and he relaxed his arm. "Yeah. He knows there's nothing to be done about it."

Jazz grinned as he pulled the larger mech back onto the main causeway. "Betcha that made him fritz."

A grin crooked Sideswipe's mouth. "To say the least." He looked around the camp as Jazz moved them back into the main causeway. "How do you know where you're going, anyway?"

"Yer supposed to be directed to wherever yer needed by yer squad leader. You are goin' to the med bay. After pingin' off that buildin', that's our first stop." Jazz tilted his head to frown at the obstinate warrior. "After Ratchet repairs ya, someone will tell you where to go next."

"Jazz!"

A mech and a minibot ran to meet Jazz. They came up short when they noticed the saboteur's companion. The Special Ops team leader pulled them off to the side, dragging Sideswipe with them. Jazz looked up to see if Sideswipe would try to leave before he let go of the warrior's arm, and moved a little further away.

"Bumblebee, Mirage." He squeezed their shoulders, giving both big grins. "'Swipe, where ya goin'?" He looked back, guessing correctly that Sideswipe would try to slip away.

The red and black mech stopped midstep. He sighed, shoulders slumping in defeat, and fell in behind Jazz.

"You two wanna tell me what went wrong with this operation?" He modulated his voice low, intending the words for their receptors only. The smiles faded from the two faces and Mirage frowned while Bumblebee crossed his arms over his canopy. "Y' sent me to a decoy."

They stared at the ground in thought, not wanting to meet their team leader's gaze, until Mirage spoke up. "It was on that roof and the other was empty." He paused, his optics darkening. "The energy readings were too high for it to be a simple decoy. There was nothing in the direction that blast came from, I am certain of that!"

Bumblebee glanced up at Jazz's neutral face. "The plans called for a sizable generator, the decoy roof had the likeliest amount of free space. I..." he hesitated, wincing and turning his optics back to the ground. "I completely missed the one they used."

Mirage's optics shifted to glance behind Jazz's shoulder. "He's trying to escape again." He covered his mouth as if in thought, but Jazz could see the grin he hid.

Bumblebee slapped his own hand over his mouth, snickers slipping through his fingers as Jazz whirled.

"'Swipe! Where the slag do ya think yer goin'? We ain't nowhere near medical." He snatched Sideswipe back by the hatch panel on the warrior's arm.

Sideswipe's engine groaned, and he vented a sigh. "Jazz, come on! I'm drained, can't I at least grab some energon before I go?"

A goodie pack appeared in the saboteur's hand, and was promptly offered to the red mech. "I ain't gonna be much longer. I wanna make sure ya get t' Ratch okay."

Jazz watched the red mech take out an energon goodie (even though he only stared dully at it) before turning back to his two team members. He modulated his voice again, so that it wouldn't carry. "Y' were supposed ta destroy the controls, 'Bee." He kept his tone even, a light reprimand in the face of a devastating mission.

"I did!" The other two shushed the minibot when he all but shouted those two words. "They shouldn't have been able to get it to spark a wire, much less blow up a city block!"

Jazz regarded the distraught little mech, his thoughts taking him down paths he'd rather not travel. Yet the truth seemed to stare him in the face. "It's okay, 'Bee." He straightened. "I want a report from both of ya on just what went wrong with the Op."

"Yes sir," they chorused despondently.

"Hey, it's okay." He grinned at them, placing one hand on their shoulders. "I'm sure ya got other things t' attend to. Better go finish up and get those reports in before we move out."

Mirage glanced over Jazz's shoulder, frown creasing his face. "I thought I recognized him. That's Sunstreaker's roommate, right?"

Jazz snapped a surprised look at the taller mech. "You've actually _talked _t' Sunstreaker? Without him turning you to scrap?"

Mirage's optics widened with equal surprise. "You mean you haven't spoken to him at all?" The former noble mech's surprise was warranted, as Jazz made it his duty to know every mech in Prowl's unit.

"That slagger is one tough bolt to catch online. I can't imagine you talkin' t' him? He seems like the type t' want to scrap ya fer what ya did."

Bumblebee wore a disgruntled expression, and Mirage grinned guiltily. "I was actually going to take him to task for assaulting Bumblebee like he did." The cultured voice dropped an octave. "But we got to talking. I catch him in the rec room every so often. I don't think he realizes that was me." His mouth curved in wryly amusement

Jazz stared at Mirage. Of all the mechs Mirage could have included in his small list of friends, Jazz would never have expected that violent maniac to finagle his way in. "Y' gotta tell me how you managed this, Raj. Later though, you two need to get going. An' I need t' get 'Swipe t' medical an' see Prowl."

"Prowl's in medical," Bumblebee softly informed Jazz, his optics gleaming with the knowledge that he'd put his Commander in danger.

Jazz winced. Ratchet wasn't going to like that.

The two operatives nodded and turned to go. Jazz grabbed Bumblebee's arm, preventing the smaller mech from leaving. Mirage didn't miss the gesture, as told by the widening of his optics, but he didn't say anything and left.

Bumblebee waited patiently, curiosity alight in his optics. The small smile that had been growing on his lips died when he took in Jazz's stern expression. He didn't resist as the team leader drew him closer, his lips brushing the minibot's audio horns.

"'Bee, did that Decepticon see ya, when you were tryin' ta shoot him?"

The white brow knitted together in confusion. "Which one?"

"That new intelligence officer, masked, and visored?" Jazz ducked his head so that he could meet Bumblebee's wide optics.

"After that red dolt blew my shot, yeah he saw me!" The minibot pulled away slightly, his face going passive rather than reveal the turmoil Jazz could still see in his optics, but even that vanished in a tic. "Why?"

"I need ya ta get over t' Ratchet," he paused, unwilling to voice the order, despite the necessity, "ask him t' give you an intensive processor scan."

Bumblebee pulled away a little more. "What?" he said, his voice little more than a whisper. The order was tantamount to an accusation of treason.

"Don' argue with me. Just get it done. Okay?" Jazz pressed his lips into a thin smile, using his well-practiced reassurance to hide the crawling worry in his circuits. The hurt look on his team member's face pulled at his sympathy. The slagger knew how to use his attributes well, Jazz had ensured that. "Th' Con's a telepath 'Bee. Ya know we can't risk it."

"I would never-"

"I said, don't argue with me." He released the yellow minibot's arm. "I know ya wouldn't." He didn't want 'Bee to think that Jazz thought him a traitor. Far from the truth.

Those few words seemed to alleviate Bumblebee's concern, and he glanced over Jazz's shoulder. "He's gone."

Jazz spun about, wondering what the slag Bumblebee meant. Sideswipe had managed to slip away. "That no good, pile a' rusty scrap! What the slag doesn't he understand about standin' right there, and waitin' for me to go to medical. He'd better be there!"

Bumblebee grinned before beating a hasty retreat from Jazz's playful swat. Even so, he stormed the rest of the way toward the designated medical building, fully intending to bend someone's audio horns if that bot wasn't already there.

He wasn't entirely surprised, though he was extremely disappointed, when he didn't see Sideswipe anywhere in the waiting area. Injured mechs littered the floor and benches, waiting for the medics to attend them.

Wheeljack walked amongst the injured, pausing to check on a mech and direct medics to see to that one, or motion for a corpse to be moved away. He noticed Jazz's sweeping gaze and his vocal indicators flashed in a silent gesture. The saboteur moved closer, never ceasing his search for the red warrior.

"Prowl's still online, waiting for you. Ratchet's got him set up in one of the private rooms." The engineer took in Jazz's wandering gaze.

"I'd appreciate it if you'd go in there and talk to him, now, Jazz. He needs to go offline so his self-repair can work." Ratchet came out of the area marked as the OR, cleaning energon off his red hands. He scowled at the saboteur, light optics narrowing. "Bumblebee and Mirage have already come and gone, if you're looking for them."

"Nah, I'm lookin' for a mech named Sideswipe. Seen him?"

Ratchet frowned, gesturing for Jazz to move. "You mean Sunstreaker's roommate?" He jerked his chin behind him.

Jazz noticed then the gold plating mixed in amidst all the others. "That's the Sideswipe." He wandered over to the golden mech, whom he still hadn't met.

Wheeljack shook his head, stooping next to the offline Sunstreaker. "He hasn't come in here. Is he damaged?" He looked up at Ratchet. "This one was next anyways, Ratch."

"Is Sideswipe damaged? That's like asking if the rain's acid," Ratchet grumbled, kneeling down to look over Sunstreaker.

Jazz stood, stepping out of the two larger mechs way. "Yep. I ain't that well off myself."

Ratchet's light-eyed gaze seemed to finally focus on Jazz and his brows furrowed under his chevron. "Then get in to see Prowl, and get your aft to the OR. I'll have someone check the other units' stations to see if any of them have Sideswipe."

"'Preciate it, Ratch." Jazz waved at the two mechs, homing in on the signal that had been pinging at his comm.

Prowl sat in a private recovery room, small but suited to the purpose it was designed for. He looked up from the datapads he sorted through on his lap. His optics flashed and he hastily gathered the datapads into a stack, frowning at the saboteur. "You don't see these." They vanished into a subspace pocket.

Jazz grinned at the tactician. "I ain't seen nothin'."

His doorwings twitched in amusement, but he flinched. "That's good of you."

Ratchet knew anyways and they both knew it.

Jazz looked his friend over, wincing at the tarp covering his legs. Ratchet wouldn't have placed that there, unless what was under was an unsightly mess. "Did y' get my message?" He turned his gaze back to the tactician's serene face.

"Yes. Communications went down right after." Prowl's doorwings lifted, despite the obvious pain it caused him, his optics brightening as he activated his authoritative programming. "What I want to know, Jazz, is what that weapon was doing on that particular roof? You were supposed to be rendering the canon inoperable, what went wrong and why didn't you realize it sooner?"

Jazz lifted his chin, bringing up his own officer protocols. "The Cons had a decoy set up."

A frown flashed on Prowl's face. "A decoy?" His optics narrowed and his optics flickered as he ran calculations through his battle computer. "A decoy should not have fooled you that long, Jazz. You are not that sloppy."

Jazz's grin turned embarrassed. "Yeah, well..."

Prowl vented a sigh, holding up a hand to halt Jazz's explanation. "I'm sorry, Ratchet is demanding that I go offline for my self-repairs to work." His optics softened. "I wanted to ensure that you returned." He settled back into the angled back of the medical berth, wincing again as he shifted both his legs and his doorwings. He reached up to his helm, drawing out a data chit from the slot underneath his cheekguard. "If you could give me a preliminary report, at least, before you leave the room, I'd appreciate it."

"Sure, buddy." Jazz hastily began writing the report in his processor, even as he took the data chit from Prowl's fingers and inserted it into the slot beneath his own cheekguard.

Prowl smiled slightly as he watched Jazz. "While you're writing that report, mind telling me how Sideswipe handled?"

Jazz winced, his optics dim as he continued to focus a part of his processing power on that slagging report despite Prowl's interruption. "He has a problem wit' authority."

Jazz swore Prowl was laughing at him with his optics. "You noticed?" The white hands clasped on the tarp. "What did he do?"

"He argued with my orders to save a bunch'a civilians. Didn't seem t' think it was his responsibility. Swipe's got some strange ideas 'bout what it means to be an Autobot..."

'_It's just that everyone has always told us-me that w-I belong in the Decepticons. Just ask Prowl._'

Jazz crossed his arms under his bumper, staring at the floor. His report complete, he searched for and found a packet he kept on his hard drive for just such occasions, when Prowl gave him a personal data chit.

Prowl didn't seem surprised by the revelation about Sideswipe. "Doldrum also had strange ideas about what it meant to be an Autobot, if you will recall. Consider it our duty to re-educate Sideswipe, and his roommate, if he also harbors those ideas." The commander leaned his head back, a brief flash of pain flashing through his knitted brows. "Are you done with that report yet, Jazz?"

Jazz didn't exactly recognize the 'surprise pack', the file title a strange one, a conglomeration of numbers that made no sense. But he recognized the intent of it within his memory banks and transferred it onto the data chit. "It's done." He ejected the diskette, taking it between two fingers and offering it to Prowl, with a little bit of his own added flare. "Y' need t' get some rest Prowl. Do ya need Ratch?"

"It's not necessary to disturb him." Prowl accepted the data chit, inserting it back into his helm drive. His optics dimmed, and he opened his mouth to speak. Only his jaw snapped close and his optics flashed on, wide with alarm. "Jazz, what-" All-too-pale optics stared briefly at Jazz, before Prowl's systems shut down to stand by.

Jazz wondered if Ratchet had initiated a remote shut down, or if Prowl had overstrained himself _again_. Ratchet was going to have a fit if that was the case. He made sure Prowl was comfortable, his doorwings at a relaxed angle, and nothing bent awkwardly before he left the room.

Ratchet's gaze met his as soon as he left Prowl's room, the medic's optics bleeding free of color as he stared at the door.

"Prowl's rechargin'."

"I know," Ratchet grumped back. His head jerked back down to the mech he and Wheeljack were lifting. "It's just-" Ratchet shook his head, unable to verbalize the cause for his concern. Jazz assumed it was simply the unnerving feeling of Prowl's sudden lack of response, the same reason his optics paled like they did. "Get your aft to the OR."

"Sideswipe?" A small string of hope that the warrior had gone to another unit's medical facility embedded itself in Jazz's processor.

Wheeljack answered as Ratchet blinked in surprise. "He hasn't been reported as being seen by anyone else." His vocal indicators flashed with irritation. "And I mean, no one else has seen him at all."

"We'll worry about that afthead. You get to the OR. I'll have one of the juniors look you over."

His face drawn in a grim smile for the audio-full a certain mech would receive, Jazz obeyed the CMO's orders. As he entered, he couldn't help but pause by the offline golden mech that roomed with Sideswipe. He wished Sunstreaker were online, perhaps he would have some answers about his roommate's strange behavior.


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

**Author's Notes **Next chapter catches me up with currently completed chapters (unless I finish Ch. 7 within the next couple of weeks). This was a fun chapter to write, particularly toward the ending.

* * *

Jazz came online to Wheeljack leaning over him, his hands disconcertingly moving within the saboteur's side.

"Yer a homely face t' wake up to. Ain't Ratchet got rules in place 'bout cruel an' unusual punishment?"

Slowly, Wheeljack turned his head, his optics narrowed and bright, his vocal indicators flashing irritably. "He also has rules about permabonding recalcitrant lip components shut."

Jazz grinned, stretching joints that throbbed from repair. "Is that what happened to ya?"

The engineer's engine rumbled and he tweaked a particular sensor in Jazz's side to draw a surprised burst of noise from his vocalizer. "That's what rumors say, anyways." He closed the panel, giving Jazz a hand up. "Take it easy on that arm until the self-repairs have a chance to finish. The next joor should be good." Wheeljack headed over to another table holding an awfully familiar red mech, impatiently hunched on the berth he occupied. While Jazz was happy to see the old mech, it disappointed him that it wasn't another red mech.

"'Hide?" Jazz hopped off the table.

"H'ain't changed none that Ah can see." A grin turned into a grimace as Wheeljack worked to tighten his joints. "Neither has you."

Jazz laughed. "Nope, still same ol' lovable me! I didn't know Prime was comin'. Somethin' wrong?"

Wheeljack paused briefly, readjusting his grip on the tool in his hand, but Jazz couldn't help but notice the look the engineer slid his way.

"Naw, only that one'a his commanders had his legs blown off. Prime was jus' worried." Ironhide winced again. "Red's blowin' a fuse 'cause no one told him of Prime's imminent arrival." The red mech suddenly shot a glare at the engineer. "Do ya have to be so rough, 'Jack?"

Wheeljack didn't even look up. "If you wouldn't leave this off til the last quartex, I wouldn't have to be." He twisted the tool in his hand to make his point, eliciting a grunt from Ironhide. "Speaking of Prowl, he wanted to see you when you came online."

Jazz nodded. "Is Prime with him?"

Wheeljack applied a little grease to the knee he worked on and turned the tool again, drawing a burst of static from Ironhide. "Nah. He's gone to see one of the other units here."

Ironhide started cursing, loudly and roundly. "That glitch mouse! I done told him ta wait fer me!" He moved to get off the table, but yelped suddenly instead.

"You aren't going anywhere 'til I've finished, _'Hide_. Make it anymore difficult and I'll get Chromia on your aft."

Ironhide subsided, grumbling, but allowed Wheeljack to continue his maintenance work.

Jazz laughed, moving to leave them to it. He noticed a golden frame on the berth, and a quick zoom of his vision revealed two black vents. Sunstreaker. He did a flash scan of the mechs in the room, but no, no Sideswipe. He frowned and exited, glancing around the impromptu waiting room for any sign of the warrior. His frown deepened as he noticed the mech's distinct absence. He supposed that Sideswipe could have been released already. Highly unlikely with the number still waiting for attention.

He approached Prowl's room, slowing down as he caught soft murmurs coming from inside. He pinged Prowl, not wanting to disturb the two who got so little alone time as it was. Prowl pinged him back, tagging a hasty 'Enter' onto the signal. The door opened, and Jazz ducked inside.

Ratchet tucked a tarpaulin under Prowl's legs, once again hiding them from sight. Prowl's attention switched from the medic to the saboteur, his pale optics giving the lie to his composed demeanor, revealing just how much pain he was still in. Ratchet's own lightened optics glared at Jazz before turning to the instrumentation around Prowl.

"Prowl, man, you never did tell me why you weren't long gone from that blast?"

Prowl's optics flickered briefly in silent communication and the Commander leaned his head back. "I was trying to pull Bluestreak away."

"Smokescreen could have handled it, you shouldn't have put yourself in danger like that," Ratchet ground out between his dental plates. He cast a glare back at Prowl, before stomping out. "I'll go check on your lucky rescue."

Jazz watched Ratchet leave before turning back to Prowl. "What happened to Blue?"

Prowl shuttered his optics for a moment. "A building collapsed on him. Don't laugh, Jazz."

"Sorry, but that guy's unlucky." Jazz muted his vocalizer, pressing his lips together against the unrepentant grin that pulled at his lips.

Prowl sent him a sour glance, his doorwings twitching and making him wince. "I wasn't about to leave him. I'd mostly had him pulled out when the blast hit." His optics dimmed, flickering again in pain.

Jazz was no longer laughing. "Y' covered him." It wasn't a question.

"Yes," but he didn't elaborate beyond that. He hissed and winced, his fists clenching at his side. "I'm sorry Jazz, but I don't believe I'll be any use to the unit like this." He halted suddenly, groaning as he pressed into the elevated medical berth.

The executive officer blanched at Prowl's words, knowing what the Enforcer meant. "Yeah, okay. Need me to get Ratchet?"

Prowl sent him a sharp look and shook his head. "No, don't disturb Ratchet. I'll call him if I need him." He narrowed his optics, obviously attempting to dredge something up from his processor. "Sideswipe… Ratchet mentioned Sideswipe was missing…" His head thumped back, the effort of keeping it up too much for him.

"He's avoidin' bein' treated for some reason. Ratch still ain't found him?"

"No," Prowl's voice glitched with strain, "I know he'd like us to be able to leave. But we can't…" His engine groaned, halting his words.

Jazz patted Prowl's hand, unable to stand such a strong mech hurting so. Wasn't Ratchet taking care of that? "I'll find 'im." '_Give him an audiofull, too_,' he silently added to himself. "You need t' rest."

"Yes, please. I need to shut down right now."

Jazz looked at his friend before nodding and leaving. He sought out Ratchet, pinging the medic's comm. until he received a locator in return. Ratchet stepped out of the room he had been in, his white paint spattered with coolant. Past the white plating, Jazz could see a grey frame, doorwings standing at rest. The medic automatically glanced at the door down the hall, his pale optics dimming for a moment before he looked to Jazz.

"Doc, what's up with Prowl?"

A frown turned Ratchet's mouth down, and his engine revved. "There's some bug in his systems, I need to get him back to base so I can look it over."

"Couldn't ya at least repair the sensors and th' damage?"

Metal squealed as Ratchet clenched his fist. "If I _could_," he practically growled, his mood set to its most savage, "don't you think that I _would_. I don't have the parts," the white shoulders drooped, belying the bright flash of his optics, "and his sensors aren't responding."

Jazz knew better than to press further, the pain at his inability blunt on Ratchet's face. He shifted subjects, trying not to hitch on a topic that struck as close as this one did. "Have ya had a chance to get a look at 'Bee?"

Jazz flinched as he saw that the ire in Ratchet's countenance didn't vanish or fade, but merely changed, changing from pensive to thunderous. "I did." Piercing blue optics glared at Jazz. "I can't bring him back online until we get him back to base. I don't have the equipment here for a proper deep scan. I was borrowing one of the other unit's…" his voice trailed off, and his gaze slid away from Jazz. "I want to scan him with my own."

"You picked up somethin'?"

A sigh hissed out of his vents, accompanying the brief sag of his shoulders. "Yes." He looked to Jazz again. "Prowl wanted to know if either you or Mirage had met that telepath yet?"

"I don't know 'bout Mirage," Jazz stated, making a note to ask the noble mech.

"And you?"

"Nope, sure haven't."

Ratchet huffed again, glancing over his shoulder at the tarp that hid his other patient.

"Still ain't seen a bolt or plate of Sides?"

"No. If you see him drag his aft back here so I can finish up field patches and we can head back to base."

Jazz grinned, saluting the medic with a cheerful 'Will do!' before he turned, grin gone from his face, and stalked out of the medical facility.

'_Prowl's outta commission, and our troops need leadership. The next mech in line for that position's gonna be me.'_ Jazz should be looking for Prime for the official order to take command, but he needed to find Sideswipe first. When Prime gave him the command there would be no time for him to personally look for a single soldier when so many needed his attention. He knew he'd never be at ease if he didn't try to find the red mech first. Sideswipe had more damage than he'd been letting on, and it irked Jazz something fierce to not be trusted by someone he considered a friend.

The other unit commanders would likely be looking after Prowl's unit until a substitute was officially named. It was the Autobot thing to do.

He didn't bother looking in the darkened alleyways, or under the supply tents, that would be too obvious. Sideswipe would seek out somewhere more private than the immediate encampment. Jazz pulled up a map of the neighboring blocks from when they'd planned this escapade. He examined the buildings marked for habitation, the ones marked as empty, and the ones marked as inhabitable. '_Now, if I was a Toughline tryin' to stay away from goin' to medical for some insane reason, where would I- Aha!'_ Jazz turned and dropped into his altmode.

He wove his way through the encampment, along the lanes marked for vehicle travel, the ones wide enough for two convoys to pass by without rattling the nearby tents and delicate supply depots. He turned down an alleyway, wide enough to let him through, seeking to get through to what was marked as a destroyed and abandoned workshop. If Jazz were damaged and desiring solitude, that would be where he would go: still in comm. range, but just on the edge of other units' sensors, a place with possible tools, plenty of hiding spaces.

Jazz transformed before he came into view of the broken doorway. The second floor's ceiling caved in to clutter a portion of the first floor, and he could see the debris of the building's collapse piled up behind the front windows. Jazz ducked under the leaning threshold, crouching in the shadows automatically as he took in the interior. Only bare shelves remained from those who used to own the shop, dust and debris that should have long been settled, floated through the air. Someone had been through here recently. Jazz slipped behind the counter, his feet crunching on the broken and useless junk that littered the ground. Discarded items that had fallen in the ceiling's collapse.

He peeked around the rear entry, trying to see past the rubble for a glimpse of red and black. He slowly slid to a standing position, unable to see past anything otherwise.

Sideswipe stared straight at him, propped up on fallen scaffolding, one leg extended as the other hung over the edge of his impromptu berth.

Jazz cursed at himself before raising his vocal modulator as he walked carefully around the scattered debris. "Hey, Sides, we been lookin' for ya. Why're ya hidin' out here?"

Sideswipe only stared at him, his face slack. One of his hands slid down the thigh it'd been perched on, swinging gently by the red mech's side.

"Sideswipe?" Real concern started to stir in Jazz's processor and he started moving faster. "Come on, man, this ain't no time to be jokin'." He reached out to Sideswipe, and shook the broad shoulder, seeking some reaction from the red warrior.

He got more than he bargained for.

Sideswipe's optics flashed, and in that same blink of time, he lunged at Jazz, face no longer slack, but twisted in vicious rage. He knocked Jazz off his feet for only a brief astrosecond, before the saboteur caught his balance and grappled to get the mech off.

"Sideswipe, man! What're ya doin'?" Jazz shouted as the warrior's black fist lifted to pound into lighter armor.

Sideswipe blinked, and visibly reset, rocking back on his heels like he'd just come out of recharge. "Jazz?" His jaw worked with surprise, but he managed to stumble to his feet, pulling the smaller mech up with him. "Oh, slag, Jazz, I'm sorry. What were you doing? I was recharging, you shouldn't have startled me like that, you know how we warrior models can be."

Jazz did, but he'd never seen such an extreme reaction before. "Ya weren't recharging, Sides. Yer optics were on."

The pale optics, and Jazz noted with alarm that they hadn't been that shade just a few astroseconds ago, widened. "They were?" Sideswipe grimaced, rubbing at his jointed audio horns as he glared at the floor. "I'm really sorry then, that's a program I wrote. It was from…" he paused, and tried again, "It was to keep…" His glare at the floor seemed to harden, before he looked up at Jazz. "It's from having a lot of pranks pulled on… me. I forgot to deactivate the program when I came here." He grinned apologetically.

Jazz frowned, still not entirely happy with Sideswipe's evasiveness. He cast a look over the still dinged up frame, taking note of the tools scattered on the ground. "Were ya tryin' to repair yourself?"

"Well, yeah, I can do minor stuff…"

Jazz arched a brow ridge, recalling the skill with which Sideswipe had fixed the saboteur's dislocated elbow. "What about th' major stuff, Sides?" Critical optics scanned the red frame. "Ya got any major damage? Besides yer rocket pack, I mean. What'cher diagnostics say?"

Sideswipe looked away and mumbled something.

"What was that?"

The warrior bared his teeth in a feral snarl. "I said, my knee."

Jazz looked down, finally noting that Sideswipe did seem to be favoring one of his legs more. "And ya transformed on it? Y've been _walkin'_ on it? What's wrong?" The black and white mech stared, appalled before he knelt down, examining the bent armor that hid the joint.

Sideswipe stepped back, so that he could sit on a pile of rubble. His knee bent obligingly, and this close, listening for it, Jazz could hear the static cracks and pops of a joint gone wrong. Sparks flickered behind the derma plating, and Jazz could just see enough of the endoskeleton to see the stress fractures running up the frame.

"I kinda shut down before I could get to it." He winced as he shifted. "The other's damaged too. Probably from hitting the building." Sideswipe looked away from Jazz's glare, his discomfort clear on his face.

"Man, ya shoulda had this looked at straight away. Ratchet was hopin' to get goin' soon." He considered his options, running his hands up the white thigh, feeling for any give in the endoskeleton. "How far up does that go?"

Sideswipe shifted uncomfortably, though he said he wasn't in pain when Jazz asked if he was hurting him. But he jumped and yelped when Jazz tried to shift his pelvic joint. This earned him another glare from Jazz, the saboteur's lips pressed together in a frown. "Primus slaggit, Sideswipe! Ratchet's gonna blow a gasket."

Just as he was about to call for transport, Prime pinged for a locator beacon.

He swore behind his dental plates, pinging Prime back with the beacon. He received a startled 'What are you doing out there?' before the Commander General requested his presence.

Jazz sent an acknowledgement then looked at Sideswipe, who didn't even act as though his hip was out of alignment. "Sides, I gotta get goin', an I can't wait for ya, but there's no slagging way I'm leavin' ya here by yerself. Come on."

Jazz slung one of the mech's arms over his shoulders, hoping that Sideswipe didn't have damage anywere else and wasn't saying anything. Sideswipe stood, barely wincing considering his damage, and tried to pull away from Jazz, but the saboteur held firm.

"I'll be fine, Jazz! Leggo! I can walk. Slaggit!" he snarled as he tried to wrench his arm away again.

Jazz lurched forward, dragging Sideswipe with him. "No ya ain't! Yer gonna lean on me like yer told!"

"No." Tug. "I'm." Pull. "Not!" Sideswipe wrested his hand free of Jazz's grip, and staggered forward a few steps.

Jazz whirled and snatched at Sideswipe helmet, snagging one of his audiohorns in a bid to get the warrior's full attention.

It worked.

Sideswipe shouted in surprise and grabbed at Jazz's arm. But his torso bent obligingly as Jazz's grip tightened on the little bit of metal.

"Yer gonna let me help ya, right?"

"Ow! Owowowowow! Yes! Yes, you can! Ow! Yes, I am!" Sideswipe stilled to look at Jazz from under his helm. "Could you please let go now?"

The petulant look and soft whimper in his voice made Jazz laugh and he released the red mech.

"Thanks." Sideswipe straightened, slowly, still trying to hide the damage he'd sustained on his leg. He fingered his audiohorn, feeling for dents or bends. Jazz patiently waited until Sideswipe gingerly reached out and put his arm back over Jazz's shoulder, leaning his weight on the Sleektilt.

"Is this a part of that friend thing?" he asked after a moment of matching the rhythm of Jazz's slowed pace.

"Ayup! Y' can expect this thing sorta regularly if yer gonna be an aft about needing help."

"Prime." But Sideswipe beamed down at Jazz.

The saboteur shouldered a little more of the Toughline's weight and tried picking up their pace a little, looking to see how Sideswipe was handling it. Then he asked a question that had been bugging his audio receptor for a while. "Ain't you and Sunny friends? Don't he do this?"

Sideswipe's face fell, and then darkened. "That slaghead can go bath in the smelting Pits for all I care," he snarled. "We're just roommates. Not friends," he fell silent and no amount of prodding from Jazz could get him to open up again.

They reached medical (having been on the receiving end of numerous stares and a few 'Where have you been?' from the mechs in the encampment) and Wheeljack directed them to the surgical room.

Sideswipe dragged his feet, slowing them down, and Jazz worried that he might have been pushing the damaged mech too hard. But Sideswipe dismissed Jazz's concerned queries with a shrug. When they entered the room, Sideswipe's pale optics focused with singular attention on the golden mech that still lay offline.

There was an empty gurney right there, and it was nearby, so Jazz directed Sideswipe there.

Sideswipe halted, refusing to budge, though he winced as Jazz prodded him to move. "I'm not laying there." He slipped free of Jazz and leaned against the wall, dragging himself along it toward the other side of the room.

Jazz followed, but his attempts to help were promptly brushed off by the warrior. Jazz noted with some alarm that Sideswipe's pale optics had widened and his ventilations rushed harshly. He seemed panicked, and, Jazz glanced at the golden mech laying oblivious on the gurney, it seemed Sunstreaker was the cause. But he couldn't puzzle out why.

Trembling from the strain of his movements, Sideswipe pushed himself onto an empty gurney, lying down with a relieved sigh.

Ratchet appeared at the doorway, and his pale-opticked glare boded ill for the stubborn warrior. He turned briefly to Jazz with a nod. "Thanks for bringing him in, Jazz. Prime's waiting for you in Prowl's room." Ratchet then turned his attention to the red mech with a snarl. "And you, you little glitch! What the slag do you think you were doing out there?"

Jazz slipped out, having been witness to many of Ratchet's fits.

He headed for Prowl's room, pinging Prime to let the Commander General know he was on the way.


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

**Author's Note:** Apologies, meant to update this sooner, but I got sidetracked by _angst_ of the _Star Crossed_ variety. Still not done with that, but I wanted to get this caught up. This is the last chapter finished. I'm probably gonna finish up the finale to _Star Crossed_ before I pick this back up for a relief from the depressing story. (and I'm actually almost done with that one one and a half-ish scenes to go. yay.)

Of note, Sunstreaker makes an appearance, and much sooner than I actually wanted. But who can refuse giant golden dandelions?

* * *

He rubbed at the edges of his visor, so tempted to reach behind them and scratch at the specialized glass that covered his optics. His engine grumbled irritably as he sorted through a small stack of datapads: battlefield reports, injury reports, supply reports, requisition reports, reports full of charts, reports full of numbers, reports full of words. Reports, reports reports and more. Slotting. Reports.

"Slaggit all to th' Pits an' th' Inferno an' back again! How the frag does Prowl put up with this all th' time!"

Datapads scattered across the floor, courtesy of a sweeping white arm, and leaving plenty of room for Jazz to lay halfway across the desk like some shipwrecked survivor adrift in an alkali lake. He thunked his head against the table-cum-desk, hoping that maybe it would get rid of the ache that spread throughout all his processors. He wasn't built for this, he wasn't programmed to deal with stupid slagging reports, that was Prowl's specialty (and the slotter reveled in it, too, Jazz knew) and Ultra Magnus' and Prime's. '_Ain't exactly goin' with th' flow are ya, Jazz?_'

He vented a sigh and straightened, leaning around the desk to retrieve his abused pile of datapads from the floor.

"Have an accident?" Wheeljack peered curiously at him, tilting his vocal indicators to indicate the mess on the floor.

Jazz pulled his mouth to the side. "I s'pose you can call it that." He slid a sly glance up at the engineer. "Kinda like how you an' 'Hide 'accident'lly' wound up in that storage closet together." His engine stuttered with laughter, and he couldn't help the grin that lit up his face.

The lights in the indicators dimmed with embarrassment. "You weren't supposed to see that."

"Then ya should answered yer comms!" Unable to restrain himself any longer, Jazz laughed outright.

Finding the two entwined hadn't been so funny at the time, at least not to Jazz. Prime had laughed, and then handed Jazz the privilege of lecturing both Ironhide and Wheeljack on the expectations of an officer (it had lasted barely half a breem, unlike Prowl's infamous cycle long speeches). Optics still dancing with amusement, Prime had then volunteered Ironhide to help Jazz ready the unit for mobilization, and then to accompany them back to base. ("If you wanted to spend some quality time with your hubmate, you should have just asked." Which would be about the point in time that Jazz finally started busting rivets from laughing so hard.)

Wheeljack eyed the black and white mech for a long moment before finally crossing his arms defensively over his chest. "We were a little distracted."

Jazz lost anything else the engineer had to say, leaning almost double on the desk as his engine threatened to rev itself out of his chestplate. After nearly two breem, Jazz finally managed to bring his laughter down to giggles, waving a hand at the white mech. "What brings ya this way? Ain't y' supposed ta be helpin' Ratch finish up with the last of th' wounded."

"Ratchet's lecturing Sunstreaker now." Wheeljack's vocal indicators flashed brightly with amusement. "We're ready to move the incapacitated mechs out."

Jazz almost instantly sobered. "How's Prowl? Any change?"

Wheeljack shook his head, stepping over to help Jazz pick up the rest of the datapad on the floor. "Ratchet's keeping him offline until we get back to base." He dropped another two from his arms on Jazz's desk. "That's the last of the casualty reports. I'm off to the supply depot."

Jazz grinned again, plucking up one of the datapads Wheeljack had left. "Don't get distracted by that shiny red platin' again, y' hear?"

Wheeljack shot Jazz an acerbic glare, grumbling as he turned around and walked out. He paused at the door, greeting someone that Jazz hadn't noticed standing there. "…staying away from Ratchet? … Yeah, he's in there. Go on in."

Jazz straightened, wondering who would be asking permission to enter. It wasn't like this was the base, or even an official- if temporary- office.

Sideswipe stepped around Wheeljack, stopping at the entrance and looking around the small room before his optics focused on Jazz with surprise.

"Wait, I thought Prowl was the unit commander."

"Ain't ya getting any of the sitreps? Prowl's outta commission, Swipe. I'm just fillin' his plates until he's up and runnin'."

The blue optics, no longer the unnerving pale-shade they had been when Jazz saw Sideswipe last, widened and he clenched his jaw shut. Jazz's sensitive audio receptors caught the near imperceptible squeal of dental plates as Sideswipe strode forward. "I thought you were just the unit's special ops commander?" Sideswipe's optics glowed down at Jazz, narrowed and uncertain.

Jazz quirked a grin. "I am. An' I'm Prowl's executive officer." He shrugged, wondering if he'd just lost any of the rapport he'd managed to build with this mech with the way he'd drawn back and his expression closed to Jazz. "Whatcha doin' here? Y' should be helpin' everyone get ready ta move."

Sideswipe grinned, his posture still guarded, but he moved forward. "Well-"

A cultured voice interrupted the warrior, "No one really wants to work with a troublemaker like him."

Jazz turned to the voice as Sideswipe looked about in alarm at the unexpected comment. "Troublemaker?"

"Who said that?"

"You tend to start fights when you're working in a group." Mirage resolved into view at the doorway, leaning against the threshold.

Sideswipe narrowed his optics. "Hey, I'm not to blame when some idiot works so close I can't help but to vent on him. They get all glitchy about it, not my fault."

Mirage huffed, stepping lightly around Sideswipe to slap a datapad on into Jazz's hands. "It's hard to give you a report when you make yourself hard to find, Jazz."

Jazz grinned, stuffing the report into subspace for later perusal. "Hey, I pay ya to find things, Raj. Even me."

Mirage frowned, tilting his head at the saboteur. "That was in bad taste, Jazz." One might call the twitch of his lips a smile. "You don't pay me at all."

Jazz snickered. "Nah, I don't. Ain't ya got stuff ya gotta be doin' 'fore we hit the road?"

Mirage nodded, stepping away from the desk. "Will Bumblebee be joining us?"

Jazz looked over the last of the casualty reports Wheeljack had given him. "Nah, he's gonna be ridin' in Vitran's trailer." He paused on Sunstreaker's account, wondering what possessed the mech to climb a building and jump on a Seeker. What the frag tactic was that? "Hey, Raj," Jazz looked up, setting the report on the pile, "have ya seen that Megahead's new intelligence officer?"

Mirage paused as he was leaving, looking back at Jazz from over his shoulder. "You _don't _pay me to avoid mechs like him, Jazz. I haven't seen him. He hasn't seen me. Why?"

Jazz turned to Sideswipe, satisfied with Mirage's answer. "Had t' ask."

Jazz could feel Mirage's gaze on him for a small while longer while Sideswipe looked between the two of them. "Now, Sides, why exactly are ya here?"

Sideswipe took a step forward, leaning his hands on the desk. "Well, can't do much with me since I'm stuck on light duty, and I've only got sealing compounds holding my leg struts together, so it's not just light duty..."

"It's no liftin'," Jazz murmured finding and reading the pertinent report, "an' minimum walkin'." Jazz's lips twisted and he looked at Sideswipe. "What the slag'd ya do t' yerself? I didn't think y' were that bad off when I left ya."

Sideswipe shrugged, looking at the stack of datapads on Jazz's desk. "Been worse." A half-hearted smirk tugged at his lips. "At least you can't complain about my optics this time."

Jazz motioned the Toughline closer, gesturing at a nearby chair. "I ain't said nuthin' about yer optics 'Swipe."

He grinned, pulling the seat closer to the desk. "No, but I know you're thinking about it. So, what are you going to have me do?"

"Yer gonna help me go through these slaggin' pads."

The grin fell off his face. "You've gotta be kidding."

Jazz picked up Sideswipe's grin. "Nope." He shoved a pad into the black hands tucked into the warrior's lap. "It's what ya get for runnin' off like that."

Sideswipe stared at the datapad in his hands. "Oh come on. I thought Ratchet's yelling at me was my punishment for that!"

Jazz reached over and activated the pad, still grinning. "Oh, wait 'til Prowl's feelin' a li'l better."

Sideswipe scrunched his brow ridges together but obediently turned his attention to the datapad.

They spent the next two cycles sorting through the information, alternating moments of quiet with silly jokes. It pleased Jazz to see the mech slowly relaxing around him again. The easy grin once again graced Sideswipe's face and he leaned toward Jazz rather than edging away from him. Seeing the bright optics seemed to ease something within Jazz that he hadn't even realized had been unsettled by the oh-so-pale lights before.

Still, the red mech avoided touching Jazz, and the saboteur realized this. But he didn't make a big deal of it, letting the Sideswipe ease into his own comfort zone, and not pushing any further. That could wait until Sideswipe was ready. Though it was difficult for Jazz to deny his friendly nature and the desire to touch the red plating. Especially as the mech was certainly attractive (and then some) to Jazz's eyes.

With the datapads sorted and eliminated until only one remained, Jazz stood and told Sideswipe to clean up the mess while he checked on the rest of the unit. "An' I don't know about you, but I think I could use a little refuelin'. Meet me by the dispensor and I'll give ya yer next assignment."

Sideswipe nodded turning his frown on the pile of datapads as Jazz walked out of the room. He made his rounds, ensuring that they had the supplies they needed, checking on the patients listed as 'Critical, but In-stasis'. His final sweep led him around back around the supply depot where they were loading up the trailers.

Ironhide directed the chaos, his parade-ground voice booming out at the mechs, making Jazz's sensitive receptors ache until he turned the gain on them down. Even above the noise, Ironhide still turned at Jazz's approach.

"Hey 'Hide! How's th operation? Goin' smoothly?"

"As smoothly as can be expected with this lot. You there! Landmine, get your aft in gear I know ya can lift more than that." Ironhide looked back at Jazz. "Somethin' ya needed?"

"Just makin' th' rounds, makin' sure we're on schedule?"

Ironhide grunted. "Yeah, we'll be on time. Have ya seen Prime?"

"Not since-"

Metal clashed together, suddenly and loudly in the midst of the cacophony. The two mechs looked up, seeking the source of the disturbance. Jazz raised the gain on his audio a few increments until he made out yelling, one of the voices a familiar pitch and tone. The two officers looked at each other before dashing off to the small crowd gathering around around the shouting match.

"-you slagger. Are you so blind you can't see where you're fragging going?"

"No actually I can't! How can anyone see anything when you're polished to such a high shine that you're glitching their optics?"

"You scratched my paint!"

Jazz and Ironhide shoved their way through the crowd. Jazz focused on the the golden mech shoving the other into one of the crates. A golden hand wrapped around the cables of the other's neck, shoving the chin up as strong fingers dug past the cables and toward the support struts

"You scratched my fragging paint," the golden mech hissed again, leaning forward, his horned head tilting. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

Jazz moved forward, blinking under his visor as he took in the scratched and dented plating covering the mech. "You didn't cause all that did ya Sides?"

The mechs' optics snapped toward the officer, and Sideswipe managed a strained smile. "Nah, he's always this good-looking. I'm ruining his new fash-_zrk_." His vocalizer buzzed with the compression applied to it.

'Stay the Pit out of this, monochrome, this has nothing to do with you." The golden mech barely looked toward the Commander. "This slagsucker's had this coming."

Jazz frowned and seized a dirty, golden shoulder, swinging the mech toward him. A solid block of metal crashed into Jazz's jaw, knocking his head back and forcing him back. Jazz caught himself before he lost his footing completely. He shook his head, recalibrating his optics and receivers.

Bodies tussled on the ground, Sideswipe snarling at the golden mech. They thrashed at each other, hampering the crowd trying to break them up. Ironhide waded in, heedless of the feet smacking into his shins.

Someone steadied Jazz with a hand on his arm, and Jazz leaned against the green mech.

"You okay there, Jazz?"

"Be okay, Hound. Ah, frag, Sunshine, whatcha go and do that for?" He rubbed at his now dented jaw, feeling warm lubricants rubbing off on his fingers. "Slag, that smarts."

With a roar of fury, Sunstreaker ripped out of Ironhide's grasp and charged the black and white officer. Jazz yelped, and dodged the fists thrown at him. After only a few steps into the dance, he threw his weight into a roundhouse kick that knocked Sunstreaker off his feet.

"You Pit-eating little byte, I'm gonna rip you apart for that." Sunstreaker rolled to his hands, sliding his feet into a coiled crouch.

Ironhide held Sideswipe down by virtue of a large red foot on his chestplate. Jazz had a glimpse of Sideswipe's wide-opticed grimace before Hound threw himself at Sunstreaker, calling for 'a little help, please?' Two other mechs that Jazz didn't recognize piled themselves on top of the golden mech, receiving kicks and bellows for the 'slagging glitches' to get off him.

"Take him to a trailer and strap him on. We ain't gotta brig 'round here, so it'll hafta do."

Jazz moved over to Ironhide, not refuting his orders. "You an' me are gonna have a nice long talk when we get back ta base, Sunshine."

The Toughline snarled again, jerking in the grips pinning him to the ground. "I don't have nothin' to say to you, monochrome." He grunted again, trying to shake off the hands on his plating. "You can just lick my cables for all I care."

The three mechs hauled the warrior up, dragging him none-too-gently in the direction of one of the carrier trailers.

Ironhide scowled down at the red mech lying passively underfoot. "An' what've you gotta say fer yerself, little punk?"

"Ow?"

"Let 'im up, 'Hide." Jazz rubbed at his jaw again, wincing as he smeared more lubricant.

Ironhide shifted, placing his other foot on the ground next to Sideswipe before he reached down and bodily lifted the smaller mech. Sideswipe staggered away from the big, red mech, shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably.

"You okay there, 'Swipe?"

Sideswipe rubbed at his neck cables, stroking them back into place. "Perfectly prime."

"No loose cables?"

His optics flickered and he glanced in the direction Sunstreaker had departed. "Not that I can tell."

Jazz tilted his head toward the mech's legs, quirking his mouth to the side.

Sideswipe winced and shifted again. "He did- I'm fi-" he stopped midsentence as Jazz directed a meaningful glare at him. "It's nothing to worry about. Don't you want to get going? It can wait until we get back to base." A smile forced its way onto his face. "I really don't want to get yelled at by Ratchet again, not so soon at least."

"Well, I ain't gonna be th' only one. Come on, y' can tell me what happened on the way." Jazz waved Ironhide's hand off, telling him to get everyone back on track. "Shouldn't be more than a tic."

Sideswipe hesitated again, glancing toward where his roommate disappeared to.

"Am I gonna really have ta drag you by yer horn this time?"

The black-crowned head snapped back to Jazz, and Sideswipe vehemently shook his head. "No, no! That's okay. Let's go." He set off at a brisk pace.

Jazz swore as he caught up, snagging a hand and yanking back. "Y' better not be coverin' up yer limp again, 'Swipe."

Sideswipe halted and stared down at Jazz. He contemplated the saboteur for a breem before sighing and draping his arm over the other mech's shoulder.

They trudged along in silence as Jazz matched the rhythm of his still slightly off-kilter steps to the warrior's limp. Then Jazz glanced up at Sideswipe. "That's the second fight he's been in since you guys came, right?"

That guarded expression fell over Sideswipe's ace again. "Fifth." When Jazz didn't say anything, and only stared up at the mech's face, Sideswipe continued. "We've gotten into a couple of fights, and the minibots annoy the slag out of him." He glanced down at the bemused tilt to Jazz's mouth. "You haven't been there."

Jazz focused on where they put their feet for a few breem, making sure to guide them around the rubble strewn about the street. "Is this normal?"

Sideswipe didn't meet Jazz's gaze. "Yeah, this is pretty common with him."

Jazz ran a quick scan on him, worried that Sunstreaker had damaged Sideswipe's vocalizer as the mech's volume dropped lower and lower. "If you want, I could reassign yer room?"

Sideswipe jerked to a stop, staring ahead, his systems hissing with some unnamed emotion. "No," he finally said, softly, a tremor in his voice, "that isn't necessary."

Jazz regarded the mech, glad the street was deserted so they weren't in the midst of prying eyes. "Y' sure?"

Sideswipe finally looked down, and Jazz was alarmed to see color leach from his optics. "Yeah, I'm sure." A smile tugged at his lips. "Besides, he'd probably kill anyone else."

Jazz had absolutely no answer for that.


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

**Author's Notes **Battle scene chapter, at least that's what I was going for. If you notice anything glaringly confusing, or wrong or tactically unsound feel free to point it out. :) Also guest-starring a character from another continuity (after all, G1 characters get thrown around everywhere, and fair's fair. ;) Not much in the way of actual Jazz/Sideswipe interaction, but next chapter should hopefully make that up.

* * *

Everything went to the Pit far faster than Jazz would have ever been able to imagine. Roars and explosions assaulted his audio sensors, deafening them to everyone, and, consequently, everything around him. Seekers swept by overhead, adding to the clamor and cacophony reverberating off the streets. They'd come out of nowhere. Decepticons pouring from every alleyway and intersecting street. They streamed through the skies, dropping bombs and missiles on the Autobot convoy.

Jazz ducked behind the broken form of a large tank drone, dodging the wires spitting and sparking from several sizeable holes in its hull. Bulkhead crouched next to him, shallow cranium peeking over the edge of the tread they hid behind and returning fire on the Decepticons a block away.

"_Where's my gunners?_" Jazz shouted over the comm. unit as another trine dropped bombs on the rear of his convoy. "_Take down those jets!_"

"_We need a medic over here! Doubleshot's taken a hit, he's leaking all over the place!"_

"_Wheeljack leave whatever the slag you're working on and get your aft over there, I've got my hands full here."_

A single trine of rainbow-hued jets burst through a lazy cloud of smoke. They artfully wove their way deep into the Autobot's line, lasers scoring their bellies even as they dodged fatal shots. They fired upon the Autobots in their path, their forward artillery lighting up their nosecones. And yet they withheld the missiles surely tucked within their bombholds.

Jazz slid up the side of the tank, targeting array wavering in and out of his vision with the motions of his gun and he opened fire on a group trying to slink into an alley. "_WHERE'S MY GUNNERS??_" he boomed again.

"_I can't get through ta Prime,_" Ironhide grunted, a jet falling in his vicinity. "_Transmissions outta the area are bein' jammed. We only got short-range communications._"

"_I have them," _finallycame the calm reply. "_Positioning them now. One more breem and those Seekers are so much slag."_

Jazz vented harshly, running the calculations through his processor. Oh Primus, they were heading for...

"_We ain't got a breem, 'Screen! They're targetin' th' medical section." _Jazz switched from the secure channel to general transmission. "_Open fire! All units protect our medics!"_

Turrets swiveled and guns swung about.

The Seekers swerved away from their intended target, but another trine broke through the line, aiming for the medics in the center.

"'_Screen, we need cover!"_

"_Are ya slaggin' insane?_" Ironhide retorted suddenly. "_That's a stupid idea, Jazz._"

Jazz looked in the direction he knew Ironhide to be, though he couldn't see the big red mech through the haze already in the air. "_Y' gotta better idea, 'Hide? Now's the time to share it."_ The acting Commanding Officer ducked the Decepticons' return fire, slapping in a second charge for his gun.

"_We got a circuit fire over by the artillery. We need retardant."_

"_I have a shot on that heavy tank. Clear out!"_

"_Jazz?"_

At Smokescreen's soft query without any further input from Ironhide, Jazz hesitated. "_Do it, Screen._"

Black smoke poured over the battlefield, reducing visibility to negligible factors. Bulkhead's gun resounding near by was the only hint of his presence.

The Seekers cursed at the Autobots on the ground, weaving out of the thick, clinging cloud.

Jazz moved closer to Bulkhead. "_Sensors on me, Bulkhead."_ Jazz dropped to the ground, magnetic plates humming to life just before they struck the ground. He could hear the much larger mech transform, engine rumbling beside him and vibrating through the black and white plating.

"_You sure it's a good idea for me to leave that tank, Jazz?"_

The white Sleektilt swept toward the big green Tanker, nudging against the mech's mag plates. "_Don't ya think I know what I'm doin', Bulky?"_

Bulkhead dropped lower to the ground on his plates. "_I'm not saying that, but we had it covered."_

"_Sensors on the ground, Bulky." _Jazz kept his sensors to the sky, depending on the large mech to point out any potential obstacles on the ground.

"_I thought we had it covered,"_ Bulkhead repeated, his tone petulant and worried.

"'_s okay, Bulk-"_

Jazz braked suddenly, flashing his headlamps at the Tanker to do the same before he darted off to the side, aware of the lumbering vehicle behind him. An explosion ripped through the cloud of clinging smoke in what used to be the two mechs' path, burning through the Autobots' cover, only to have the void just as suddenly filled in by more of the smoke pouring from a single Autobot.

Bulkhead suddenly transformed and nabbed Jazz-still in alt-mode- pulling the Sleektilt under him. Bullets rattled against the Tanker, and Jazz could hear the few that penetrated the thick hide and the vulnerable joints and seams on the larger mech. The mech's systems whined in pain above him, and Jazz revved his engine comfortingly.

He took that moment to get his bearings. There, the abandoned trailer of a Convoy, smoke trailing over the offline bodies lying exposed.

"_Primus slaggit! Bulkhead, soon's that gun stops, you cover that trailer. Why no one's already doin' that-" _Jazz halted as Bulkhead's optic peeked out from where it had ducked into his chestplate. "What?" he asked aloud, certain the Tanker would hear him so close.

"Jazz... they're all... uh, dead."

"Say wha'?" A second scan of the trailer and Jazz noticed that, yes, the bodies were all indeed cold and silent. The metal of the carrier twisted and burned, curling over the inert frames and melting into their profiles. Automatically, he logged the carrier and the passengers, but rather than view the casualties he filed it away for later perusal.

The flash scan took a bare astrosecond during which the constant stream of bullets stopped. Bulkhead transformed and Jazz led them onto the next carrier, this one deeper in the center line. Jazz commed over the appropriate code, and the line opened to let them through. A large grey Convoy stood in front of his trailer, all four of his rifles blazing relentlessly at distant Decepticons, over the heads of his shorter comrades.

"Duck and cover!" The large mech boomed suddenly.

Bipedal frames suddenly dropped to the ground, just as a missile cruised by overhead. Nitro smacked at the tail end, sending the missile spiraling away from his trailer. It hit open ground, and sent shrapnel raining down on them. Another trailer crashed onto its side from the concussion.

Identifiers immediately pulled up in Jazz's HUD. Vitran Convoy. Transporting Reliance, Whirlidervish, Sunstreaker, and...

Aw slag.

That was Bumblebee's trailer!

Jazz turned at Nitro's angry shouts.

"Get back in your slot! That's your assignment, that's what you'll do!"

Sideswipe answered, his words broken by the continued cacophony of battle. He wrenched free, Nitro no longer able to argue with him as the large mech brought his rifles to bear again.

"Sides what the frag are you doing?"

Jazz zipped over and transformed as Sideswipe stood up and pulled his rocket launcher from subspace. Pale optics glared down at the acting commander. "Just because I'm injured, doesn't mean I can't stand here and shoot! Don't make me die doing nothing!"

Jazz wanted to yell that the mech wasn't going to die, but the wrecked trailer haunted his visual sensors. "Ya stay right there and _don't move_! Do ya understand?"

Sideswipe didn't even look at Jazz, his hand on his launcher as he took aim on approaching jets. "Fine! Won't take a step even if they burn me to slag! I hear ya!"

He didn't have time for insubordination. He had to get to the center, where the medics worked unaware that they were standing targets. "_Keep it up! Don't let them through._"

Without waiting for acknowledgment, Jazz dropped back to his alt mode, wrenching joints in his haste. He scraped along the ground, barely giving the mag plates a chance to take hold before propelling himself into the backlines.

"_We need a medic! Bang's been hit!"_

"_Get him over here! I can't leave!" _

"_Negative. We can't spare a body, the Con's are trying to swarm us over here."_

"_Driver! Balance! You're close by, can either of you reach him?"_

"_Negative."_

"_Not happenin', I'm still workin' here!"_

"_He's losing coolant and going into shock! Can we get some help over here?"_

Jazz burst into the stream of communications. "_Ratchet, yer the only medic available! What've ya got yer hands in?"_

Ratchet answered over a private channel, his words snarled and tone vicious. "_I am _not_ leaving Prowl!"_

Vents spat hot air and Jazz picked up speed, aware of the strain it placed on Bulkhead to keep up. "_Ya gotta! Ya need t' mobilize anyways, yer all sittin' targets!."_

"_Oh, well thanks for that observation, Jazz!"_

Jazz whirled to his feet as he came upon Ratchet's little enclosure. Walking wounded assisted the medic in toting those in stasis into empty trailers cleared of mechs who hadn't made it. The saboteur snagged the larger mech's arm, using his momentum to spin Ratchet toward him. "Yer needed elsewhere!"

"I'm needed here!"

"If Prowl were online, he'd order ya to go too!"

Pale blue opticsseemed to ice over. "If Prowl were online, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

Jazz winced at his mistake. Where was Prowl's cool commanding tone when he needed it? "Yer needed elsewhere, Prowl ain't goin' nowhere. I can supervise. Stabilize Bang and get 'im back here."

Ratchet slid wide optics toward the incumbent form on the ground.

Black fingers squeezed the white paneling. "I'll watch Prowl."

The large frame hissed, moving away from the saboteur. "If anything happens…" The threat lingered in the air, and the blue optics swept up to include Bulkhead.

"Ain't no one gonna touch him."

Ratchet turned and transformed, his ping rattling off of Jazz's sensors.

Jazz stood over Prowl's too still form, directing the crew in maneuvering the offline wounded about. He didn't need medical programming to tell them where to handle gently, Ratchet-nearly as anal about his patients as Prowl was his unit- had clearly marked weak and damaged areas. Bulkhead assisted as he could, easily reaching the tops of the carriers and securing the wounded without having to waste time in climbing up and down.

"_What the _frag_ are you doing, Sideswipe?"_

A disruption in the normal sound of battles drew his gaze back toward Nitro's position, but he couldn't see anything through the obscuring cloud of smoke. He could only listen and extrapolate what was going on.

"_These jets are a pain in the aft! They won't leave, so I'm getting rid of them!"_

"_Get back down here right now!"_

"_Sideswipe, I toldja not t' move!" _

A jet roared by, its engines stuttering inexplicably. A missile hit?

"_Promise I'm not using my-" _The transmission broke off abruptly, startling Jazz.

Not even the buzz of communications touched his audio receptors. A jammer, but where? They had been using short range just for this-

Jazz whirled, a small movement catching his attention.

A turbohawk glared up at him, red optics flaring balefully. It stood on Prowl's neck, thrusters scraping his helmet and his shoulder plates.

It shifted its stance, claws hooking into powerlines. The threat clear.

How 'd that get through the line? Jazz lifted the gun in his hand, intending to blast the stupid bird off his friend.

Red optics narrowed, and the bird-bot squawked.

His finger refused to squeeze the trigger. His processor whirred with conflicting information. The desire to shoot the pest flailing against the possibility of ripping important lines out of Prowl's cortex, and possibly killing his best friend.

"_-ceive me? Come in! Are –ceiving?" _Prime's voice filtered through the jam, static and interference breaking his words up.

"_Optimus, this is Jazz, do you copy?"_

"_-azz? New – channel! Filter 8433. Decode authorization Theta."_

Jazz switched channels, his optics never leaving the turbohawk. "_Blaster got through the jam?"_

"_He's secured this channel for us to converse for now. Situation? Where's the Commander?"_

Jazz frowned, puzzled why Optimus was asking that. "_Prowl's down sir, remember? I'm acting Commander." _

Bulkhead's large green form pulled out of the cloud that had blown between Jazz and the medics. "Jazz? What happened? Why are you-"

Jazz held up a hand, halting Bulkhead's question.

Static bursts broke the transmission, an electronic hesitation. "_Of course. Do you need assistance? We are close to your position."_

The tanker's optics brightened, lighting on the turbohawk and he took a step forward mouth open to speak.

Jazz gestured sharply, again halting the big mech. The bird-bot hadn't done anything yet. Maybe it just needed a moment to rest? "_If y'can. They're swarming us sir, I'm not sure how much longer we can hold this position." _

"_Can you hold for another few breem, Jazz?"_

"_Yeah, I think-_" Jazz broke off as something large and red dropped out of the black cloud, crashing into Bulkhead, and knocking him to the ground. The turbohawk shrieked and its thrusters ignited, launching it off Prowl's neck. "The frag?" Jazz leapt over to the black and white mech, using a wiper cloth to beat out the fires from the bird's take off. He shook off any flames that caught on the cloth, too intent to worry about the wiring catching to mind the burns on his hand.

Bulkhead moaned, shifting and sitting up, one clawed hand moving the object that had hit him. The half-slagged frame moved, and moaned. Jazz paused briefly in putting out the small fire to glance toward what he thought to be a Seeker corpse. His jaw fell as he recognized the red and black paintjob and mech's shape.

"'Swipe?" Jazz couldn't spare his attention for long, he finished with the flames and rushed over to Bulkhead and the warrior. He put a hand on Sideswipe's shoulder, listening for some sign that the mech was functioning. Bulkhead nudged the mech's head, trying to get a response. Jazz clenched his teeth, and tightened his joints until the pale optics flickered on, and the black-crowned face turned toward him.

"J'azzzkk?"

The saboteur released a breath of hot air, cycling to cool his heating systems, glancing at the tanker gratefully. "Primus, 'Swipe. What- You-" He buzzed his vocalizer, stopping himself. He couldn't handle this at the moment. " I don't know what y' were thinking," he forced a smile, scanning over the mech's damage and seeing that Sideswipe would be okay with a little Ratchet-flavored TLC, "but you'll live long enough for Prowl t' strip ya down to yer casing." He gave Bulkhead a brief scan as well, making sure the falling body hadn't done any damage. "Good thing Bulky here cushioned yer fall."

"_They're pulling back?"_

Jazz's head whipped around, tracking the source of that transmission.

"_They're wha'? Yer pullin' my wires?" _Ironhide sounded as disbelieving as Jazz felt.

"_No, seriously! They are!"_

"_Really 'Hide! East side too!"_

"_North too!"_

"_And south!"_

Jazz's optics flickered in surprise, but he couldn't see anything through the thick screen of smoke. The weapons fire slowed down, the rattle echoing off the buildings until pauses breached the noise. "_'Hide? 'Screen? Can ya get a look? Ratch are you in a position to see?"_

"_Call me that again, Jazz, and I'll turn you into an outlet." _Static burst in a brief pause. "_They're backing off from what I tell._"

Ironhide and Smokescreen concurred.

Jazz accessed the coded frequency he'd been reaching Prime on. At the same time he ran his hands over Sideswipe's frame, clamping any broken coolant lines. "_I hope yer givin' us that assist, sir?"_

"_I worried when you didn't respond. Yes. That is my unit. I'm afraid though that I won't be able to stay, I trust you can handle things from here? We'll make sure the Cons have something else to think about."_

Jazz blinked, hands stilling in surprise. "_Of course. Didja wanna take 'Hide back?"_

"_That is unnecessary, continue as we planned." _The transmission trembled, a low vibration reverberating through Jazz's sensors. "_Jazz, this is an alpha level security frequency, only you and Prowl will be authorized to utilize it to contact me."_

"_Yessir."_

"_I look forward to hearing your future reports."_

"_Thanks for the assist, Prime._" Jazz finally refocused his attention on the mech, startled when he didn't receive a response to his probing.

Bulkhead stopped Jazz with a claw on his hand. "He's in stasis."

Jazz glanced up at the tanker in surprise, but a quick scan found that Sideswipe systems whirred with stasis settings. The saboteur-cum-commander sighed in relief, reassured that 'Swipe would come online again.

He stood, and let Ratchet take over the moving of the wounded, joining Smokescreen and Ironhide in getting the unit together again and ready to move out.

Now he wanted to know what the frag Sides had been doing to get this badly slagged. It wasn't all the crash. Not with those burns and bullet holes.


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

**Author's Notes **I seriously need to do some poking at thesummary, my subplot is taking over and the summary is becoming rather misleading. ^^;

Ooh! On the good side, this is a step ahead in the Jazz/Sideswipe relationship! Yay! Even though there's still less Jazz-Sides interaction than I wanted. Ah, well. I'm also pleased with the way this chapter came out. Actually feels like there's more characters than just Jazz and Sides. XD

* * *

They were talking when Jazz entered the room. Mostly Ironhide regaling them with some derring-do of his (quite likely involving a Decepticon WMD and a leap and a certain nameless Prime). Ratchet and Wheeljack had their heads tucked together; Wheeljack's indicators flashing softly and Ratchet's moving mouth the only other indication that they spoke to one another. Smokescreen seemed to be listening to Ironhide, but Jazz knew better, and the diversionary tactician had this utterly blank look on his face of pretending to be listening. Occassionally the colorful Enforcer would lean toward Wheeljack and add a comment to the two's conversation. Red Alert's attention shifted to Jazz long enough to give a nod in recognition before turning back to the large red mech. Frequency gave Jazz a jaunty grin, his head bobbing to some rhythm only he heard.

Jazz smoothly inserted himself between Ratchet and Ironhide, creating a little more of a buffer between Smokescreen and Ironhide. Ratchet's head jerked up to see who had intruded on his personal space. The corners of his mouth briefly dropped as he took in the saboteur's grin.

Jazz let Ironhide finish his tale, and the medic and scientist end their conversation. He waited until everyone turned their optics on him, and then he waited another quarter of a breem, before he pulled his mouth into a lopsided smile.

"Well, I don't know about y'all, but I'm waitin' fer Prowl t' give us the go ahead." Jazz dramatically gestured to the spot that he had purposefully left open at the end of the table.

A smattering of laughter met that joke, and Jazz purposefully bumped Ratchet, whose optics had dimmed in response. At the slight nudge, one optic brightened to glare down at Jazz's grinning face.

"I don't know about y'all, but havin' Prowl be outta commission has sure left a dent in m' duties, an' I wanna get on the stupid slaggin' reports I'm supposed t' read an' y'all are supposed ta be givin' me more stuff to slagging go through." Jazz paused to hang his head, earning another round of chuckles. "So, let's get this over with so we can all get back t' work." Jazz did a quick scan of the mechs around the table and decided to start on a slightly less sensitive (though no less important to him) topic.

"Ratchet, what's the status on that deep scan fer 'Bee?"

"Done," Wheeljack interjected, suddenly. His optics flickered in amusement as gazes turned from the Chief Medic to the Engineer. "Ratchet had me take over so he could deal with the casualties."

"Whatcha find?" Jazz asked before Ratchet had a chance to berate Wheeljack for his word choice.

Ratchet glared at the table, his engine growling in irritation.

"Same thing Ratchet did. There's an invasive program running in his processor. It's altered at least some of his memory files."

Jazz glanced at Ratchet. "Recommended course of action?" he asked softly.

Wheeljack's optics dimmed. "Memory wipe. We'll have to take it at least as far back as that last battle. There might be more, but at the rate the program's been running, I don't think any files would be fragmented enough to have been unnoticeably affected."

Red Alert twitched, his joints whining as he buzzed for attention. "This is a major security breach, and the intelligence officer didn't even have to come within normal field influence. One can only assume that proximity will give him greater access to a victim's higher functions." Red Alert looked to Frequency for agreement and the mech gave him a thumbs up and a cheery 'Right-o'. "Do we know if Bumblebee's spark had been breached?"

"Thank the Matrix, no," Wheeljack sighed. "I wouldn't have recommended only a memory wipe, Red."

Red Alert nodded at that.

"Ya can tell fer sure, Jack?"

Wheeljack's optics flickered in brief communication with Ratchet, the medic's pale gaze still fixed on the table. "I'll take a spark reading after the procedure, but it was reading clean before."

Ratchet finally spoke up, "Even if he's altered his spark readings, the fluctuations should still let us know if he's attempting to hide anything."

One aspect of special ops training covered cycling energy through your spark until it became nearly unrecognizable and unreadable to interpreters. Jazz tucked his hands under his bumper, ducking his head to hide the grimace on his face. While considered basic training, it was normally reserved as a last resort tactic. '_Then again, a lot of special ops trainin' should be last resort.' _"Ya didn't find any damage though right?" Normally the best way to encourage spark fluxing would be through overclocking due to injury. Superficial damage wouldn't have suited the purpose, it would have to be something major: puncture, busted linkage, severed limb relays, massive fuel loss, sliced power cables these were normally the best ways to attain a fluxing spark. Despite the ease such conditions would be to attain in a torture scenario, Jazz didn't see how they were possible with this situation.

Wheeljack waved the suggestion off. "Nothing, he's been offline since we left the camp."

"Are ya gonna try t' clean the bad codin' out?"

Ratchet shook his head. "I can't do that here. But if Ironhide can take it back to Iacon, then Longview and Blaster can examine it and see if they can't extract clean data. Sorry, Jazz, but 'Bee's not going to remember anything that happened since then and his waking up." The medic sighed, tossing a quick smile at the black hand patting his arm.

"Ah can certainly do that for yah, Ratch. Ah'm needin' ta head back anyways, just so long as y'all have everythin' under control."

Assuring murmurs circled the table until they reached Red Alert. The security officer didn't seem the least bit pleased, if one could tell by the frown on his face and the fingers tapping his datapad. "While Ironhide's actions are greatly appreciated, this does not negate the fact that we have, essentially, had a spy in our midst for the past several megacycles. I request that all the records he dealt with be pulled for examination, as well as changing access codes earlier than normal. I will be pulling footage to attempt to piece together exactly where he went while he was in the base. If I could receive assistance in tracing any contacts he might have in the city-"

"Whoa whoa whoa there Red!" Jazz waved down Red Alert's enthusiasm. "We ain't interrogatin' no civilians just cause 'Bee happened to wave at them! Everythin' else is fine, but that I simply ain't gonna tolerate, and you know Prowl wouldn't either, so don't try t' fuel me with that sludge."

Frequency bopped his hand back and forth, gaining the attention of the table. "I can scour the air waves and see what our little Bug's been up to. Who he's been jammin' with, if anyone's been playin' DJ to all'a his music." He grinned as Red Alert's optics brightened. "I knew that you would dig that, Red, I already got my compacts pullin' the records, I just gotta give my sig to the stuff too high for them to access."

"Your assistance is appreciated Frequency," Red Alert said, but he turned to Jazz expectantly. "There is still one last issue to address. I hope that Ratchet will concur with the need to have the entire Special Operations team deep-scanned for invasive programming."

Jazz's fingers twitched, and it was all Jazz could do to keep from bouncing to his feet and crying out in outrage. "Hang on, Red, Raj and I haven't seen this new intelligence officer. Yer sayin' we're guilty 'fore we even commit any crimes." He leaned toward the sceurity officer, keeping a sweet smile on his face despite the glare hidden by his visor. "I ain't gonna tell Raj that he's a traitor, and I ain't gonna stand for anyone else saying that slag in my presence. Am I clear?" He swivelled his head, including everyone at the table. He waited until they agreed, resigned to Jazz's decision.

Red Alert did not seem so ready to admit defeat on the topic yet, however. "Jazz, I don't think you're looking at this objectively enough. His memory has been altered, he is the reason that the battle went as badly as it did." Red Alert waved the datapad he held, optics flashing in anger. "He gave us inaccurate coordinates and botched your mission. This all by just being within sight of that intelligence officer, there is no telling what may happen with closer contact. I stand by my request to have the Special Ops team scanned."

Jazz leaned forward, dental plates bared in a silent snarl. "I haven't seen him, Mirage says he ain't seen him. Now unless yer gonna sit there and call us liars then let's carry on with the next topic." Jazz paused a moment, his gaze never breaking from the Security Officer's. "Are ya gonna call us liars?" He said it in his sweetest tone, but the snarl never left his lips.

Red Alert stared back, his indecision almost palpable. He looked to Ironhide, and Jazz nearly lunged across the table, but Red Alert, living up to his name, jumped out of the saboteur's reach.

Half sprawled across the table in a most undignified manner, Jazz shoved himself up so that he could more effectually glare at Red Alert. "_I'm _in command here, _not_ Ironhide."

The Security Officer didn't blanch from Jazz's gaze again. "I stand by my suggestion," he finally said, his tone wavering only slightly.

Jazz's glare hardened behind his visor though he froze his cheek and lip motors. "An' I'm vetoin' that suggestion." He ended the discussion with a look at Ratchet. "Ratch," Jazz asked, letting the tension out of his servomotors, "how's things lookin' for Prowl?"

Ratchet shifted as every optic turned to him. "I'm still trying to trace the source of the glitch."

"There's no estimation for his recovery time then?" Red Alert asked, shuffling the datapads in his hands.

Ratchet only glared at the security officer. "I've got the majority of his damage repaired, the only thing left is cosmetic, but I'm waiting until the medbay's cleared before I worry about that."

"Ratch-man, what's the hold-up with good ole Prowler? I don't jive with you sayin' you can't fix it. There ain't a tune you ain't heard in your field." Despite his jocular tone and smile, Frequency still managed to convey a sincerity with the weight of his hands on the table and the angle of his lean toward the medic.

Air rushed out of the white frame and Ratchet shifted his weight, his glare once again centering on the tabletop. "It keeps coming back."

Engines revved in surprise.

"After I delete it, he's lucid for approximately half a joor before it reinstalls itself. It's getting past any firewalls I set up..." Ratchet stared contemplatively at nothing in particular. He glanced toward Jazz. "If we're done here, I'd like to get back to work."

Jazz nodded. "We all got our assignments-well, hey wait a tic." Jazz's grin turned positively devilish. "Smokey, y' ain't got any new assignments? Thanks fer volunteerin' t' help me go through the reports! Meetin' adjourned."

Smokescreen sputtered, "Wh- Butbutbut-"

* * *

The main doors were closed and locked.

Jazz could override the lock, but he didn't really want to face the wrath of an outraged CMO. He entered through the side door, standing patiently as cleansers pulled the dirt and dust off his frame. The disc rotated him to allow the cleansers full access to his plating.

After a breem of the cleaners drawing dirt from his frame the door to the medbay interior finally opened.

Medics huddled over still frames, working feverishly to finish the mech they worked on and move onto the next. Others turned parts in their hands, repairing what they could before placing it in the sorting bins for the medics.

Jazz danced around the mechs rushing back and forth. Ratchet didn't even look up from the wires he was splicing. "He's in Room 3, and last I checked he was offline and 'charging like a sparklet."

The saboteur blanched. Ratchet must have been really busy not to know right offhand the status of that one particular patient. "Thanks Ratch!"

A grumbled retort followed him as he made his way through the lines of occupied gurneys heading for the back room. He stumbled to a stop, and darted between two of the berths to stand next to what was becoming a terribly familiar red frame: Sideswipe. He stared down at the offline mech, relieved to see that the worst of the damage had been mended already.

"What've you got there?" Ratchet asked suddenly, startling Jazz. The medic could be as silent as a prowling autolion when he wanted.

Jazz turned to the larger mech, hastily coming up with an excuse to be over here when he noticed Ratchet's optics were firmly on the datapad he held.

"Uh, I thought Prowler could use somethin' t' read whenever he comes online."

The red hand reached out, clearly intending to pluck the datapad out of Jazz's grip. The saboteur didn't even try to resist as the device left his fingers. "Weren't ya just fixin' someone?"

"He can wait a breem," Ratchet grunted, turning the datapad over and putting his welder torch to the side of the device.

Jazz yelped, snatching the 'pad out of the medic's hands, but too late as the dataports were already warped beyond usability. "What the frag was that for?"

The torch suddenly waved under Jazz's nasal ridge, blue flame dancing too close for his liking. "I don't know what Prowl has, but the last thing I need is to have it start spreading around the unit because he decided to jack in and pull the file straight from the datapad." Ratchet's gaze finally turned toward the gurney Jazz stood next to, and he arched an inquiring optic ridge at the saboteur. "Doesn't look like Room 3, much less Prowl."

Jazz buzzed his vocalizer, resuming his hasty excuse making. "How's 'Swipe?"

Ratchet's optics flickered as he accessed the patient database. "Besides a pain in my aft?" he rumbled good-naturedly. "He'll live, lucky fragger." The pale blue optics narrowed suddenly and turned the full intensity of Ratchet's glare on the saboteur. "Do you have any fragging idea what he was doing after I told him to stay put?"

Jazz shook his head, moving the datapad to draw the medic's attention. "No idea, no one saw. I'm hopin' Prowl might be able t' figure it out."

The medic harrumphed, casting one last glare at the warrior before turning back to his current patient.

Jazz stood for another breem, looking at the patches that covered the plating, and the sealed tubes waiting for replacement. He moved on when a junior medic stepped over, hesitant at seeing a senior officer standing by the gurney.

He gave the femme a charming grin as he left, not stopping for anything else. He didn't even realize that he hadn't registered her name until he was across the room.

The door to the room opened just enough to permit Jazz in. Cool air rushed out, brushing against Jazz's face and audio horns, sending chills down his plating. As soon as he stepped into the room, warnings popped up in his HUD, informing him that he'd just entered a jamming zone. Ratchet's comment about the persistently reappearing program popped up in his processor. He gritted his dental plates and shut down his transceiver and any other receiving equipment, ignoring the feeling of being wrapped in packing fluff.

His optics automatically sought out the black and white frame. Any relief at seeing the mech repaired died at the sight of the open chest (the chestplate nowhere in sight) and wires attached to his processor and spark chamber. Jazz hissed as he recognized a manual firewall, breaking the connection between spark and processor: a safety precaution that kept the processor working but prevented an infection from reaching the spark.

No wonder Ratchet was so stressed.

Jazz took another step into the room, glancing at the monitors set up next to the tactician. "Hey, Prowl..." He allowed himself a slight smile as the spark monitor fluttered; recognition of Jazz's voice reaching down even to the spark. An interpreter sat next to the monitor, and Jazz stared at it in shock. He hadn't expected to find Ratchet going to such lengths to trace the problem.

He felt unaccountably guilty as he approached the offline mech. His holding tanks churned uneasily as he noticed how slack his friend's face was. He cycled air in a rush as he brushed the white fingers, sliding his hand up to grip the black forearm.

"I know ya can't hear me," still the monitor continued to fluctuate to his voice, "but I brought ya somethin' t' read whenever ya come online." He managed a smile as Prowl's spark reacted to the particular energy in Jazz's voice. He reached up to the white helm, fingers resting lightly on the curved metal. His optics never left the monitor as his engine grumbled for a moment and then revved high and strong before wending down and revving right back up. The monitor arced with each cycle, reacting to the pulsing of Jazz's energy field.

Knowing Ratchet wouldn't appreciate Jazz heating his cool room, Jazz stopped after the seventh cycle. He patted Prowl's helm, wishing his friend could respond.

Jazz moved to set the datapad on the counter. Shards of glass fell from his fingers, and he stared in shock. He hadn't even realized that he'd been holding the device that tightly. Wincing guiltily, he quickly accessed the file still on his harddrive and downloaded it to another datapad he pulled from subspace.

Placing the new datapad on the counter, he shoved the other into his trash pocket.

"You rest an' get well, Prowl. Things just ain't th' same wit'out ya."

The monitor flickered at him, a continued reassurance that the frame in front of him was indeed his best friend and still functioning.

* * *

By the time Jazz managed to hit the rec room (courtesy of being dragged out of his office by an insistent Mirage), most mechs had already cleared out for their extended duty shifts, or recharge. A few frames still loitered around in small groups, voices soft in the nearly empty room. Each of them had been listed as still in repair last he checked. Primus, how long ago had that been? He noted Bluestreak sitting with Hound and Trailbreaker on one of the couches, the two Roughriders talking to the miserable-looking gunner. Whirlidervish hovered over the back of the couch, his shoulders twitching where his gravity lifts normally would be. Trailbreaker looked up, his visor flashing at Jazz; signalling that they had the situation in hand. Jazz went to the bar and ordered two rounds of mid-grade, intending to down one and take the other with him to his quarters.

He paused in turning toward the door. Sideswipe sat on a bench, his optics bright, but his lips pressed together. The mech held an empty energon cube in his hand, his elbow resting on his thigh. Jazz's optics narrowed and he approached the lone mech sitting on the couch.

"Man, 'Swipe, ain't ya got _any _friends? I'm always findin' ya by yerself in here."

Sideswipe straightened, not in surprise, but to turn his attention to the black and white mech. "Yeah, I do. Just didn't feel like company, right now."

"Oh, well, I'll go then." Jazz turned to leave.

Sideswipe's optics flashed and he half-stood as though to block the officer's path. "No, you're fine-I mean, you're not a bother."

Jazz sat down, offering his spare cube to Sideswipe. "Somethin' glitchin' ya?"

Sideswipe took the cube from Jazz's hand, his expression guarded. "Not really. I just needed some quiet time." A grin pulled at his mouth. "Especially since my hearing's still a little staticy from Prowl's lecture." He rubbed at his audio horns, and then his gaze slipped sharply toward Jazz. "Do you have any idea what his glitch is? You'd think he had to stand over my offline frame and do all the repairs. Slag, I thought Ratchet could _yell_, I think I'd rather get yelled at!"

Jazz snickered, not bothering to shield his amusement behind his fingers to spare his friend. "How long?"

"How long what?"

Nor did he bother to hide the grin either. "How long was the lecture?"

Optics flaring, Sideswipe downed a gulp of energon. "Slagging lasted three slotting cycles! I thought I was going to die of boredom."

"I hope ya were running that li'l program of yours so he didn't think y' were fallin' into recharge on him."

Wide optics turned to Jazz. "And he doesn't need to know about that."

Jazz's grin widened. "Ain't gonna hear it from me, that's fer sure."

Sideswipe sighed in relief, his fans running briefly as he sat back. "You're a good mech, Jazz. But this is normal for him?"

"Well, it don't help that he ain't got nothing t' do. An, Ratch was pretty hot at you, so he really couldn't help it."

Sideswipe choked on his energon. "Say _what_?" he demanded, wiping at the stray droplets that dribbled down his chin

"They really can't help it. An' I wouldn't make Prowl upset whenever he's up an' about, either. Or at least, avoid th' medbay if ya do."

Sideswipe stared at Jazz, optics resetting a few times as the warrior absorbed that information. "You're fragging me! They're... bonded?"

Jazz nodded, enjoying Sideswipe's surprise too much to pity his naivety.

"Primus! Well, that explains a lot."

Patting Sideswipe's shoulder, Jazz chuckled, his engine echoing his amusement. "Ain't no one told ya that? Who the frag handled your orientation?"

Sideswipe's optics dimmed with embarrassment and he hid behind another swig of energon. "Didn't exactly get one..."

Jazz vented in exasperation. "Slag..."

Sideswipe grinned at Jazz, nudging the saboteur's shoulder with his elbow. "Well, you could do something about that. I'm a little tired of getting surprised."

Jazz took another mouthful of energon, giving himself a moment to consider. "I could see if 'Screen..." he trailed off as disappointment dropped across Sideswipe's face. He didn't really need to ask after the change in expression. "Hey man, I'd love ta give ya the run down, but that's more 'Screen's area. He knows most of the ins and outs." The red mech's expression didn't change. "An' I need to head to recharge, I'm only gettin' half a recharge cycle as is..." Primus, why was the mech affecting him like this? He wanted nothing more than to lift the drooping mouth, and brighten those blue optics. "If ya haven't told anyone about the mistake before now, then ya can't tell me y' were worried about it. What's th' matter?"

Sideswipe said nothing, more concerned with swirling the energon around the rim his cube. He hunched his shoulders for a brief astrosecond, though it could have qualified as a half-hearted shrug.

A black hand rested lightly on a rounded shoulder mag plate, attempting to draw the warrior's attention up and away from whatever disturbed him. "Y' know, I've been wonderin' how you and Sunshine managed to survive when the base was hit?"

It didn't work as Jazz had planned.

Sideswipe's optics blinked out, coming back online in that disturbing pale hue. He straightened against whatever memory Jazz had called forth, though his mouth tilted in a half-smile. "We were in the brig."

'_He's lyin'_,' Jazz realized, staring at the odd combination of expressions, _'or there's more to it, that he don't want t' tell me. Or both..' _"Why don't that surprise me?"

The smile wavered a moment and the red shoulders sagged. Static hissed from Sideswipe's vocalizer and he took a gulp of energon, swirling the fluid around his mouth before he turned to Jazz. "You say you're my friend, right?"

Jazz had to reset his sensors, but the words didn't change. "Yeah, a' course, 's why I get so fried when yer bein' a dumbaft."

Sideswipe looked back down at his cube, his guarded expression relaxing. "I could really use a friend right now..."

Jazz's engine gave a small sputter in surprise, but when Sideswipe leaned toward Jazz's hand, the saboteur pulled the unresisting mech snug against his side. Sideswipe sighed, as though a weight had been taken off him, leaning into Jazz. Though they spoke for the next cycle, Sideswipe didn't speak another word on the subject.


	10. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

**Author's Notes:** I revamped the summary to reflect the subplot that has taken over my story. XD Don't worry though, Jazz/Sides yumminess is still to come, but I needed something to tide me over till then (and a tad bit of fluff) so I wrote this first portion. (also, this is a pairing I adore, but may never get a chance to focus on. 3

* * *

He floundered in the fragmented depths of his processor. Aware that he should be booting up, but unable to access anything. Programs ran in the background, subroutines normal to the process of recharge. He'd set his systems up for a routine defrag, but it sat frozen and unfinished, in the midst of mapping out files to be defragmented, an alarming number in comparison to the normal amount. It might explain why he was running so slow.

He next became aware of his chronometer, for it had been a scheduled alarm that had initially brought him online. His systems logged all of a joor in recharge, not even the half a recharge cycle he'd been hoping for. Sluggish systems rebooted, interrupted defragmentation halting and closing down as he forced himself awake. His limbs twitched as his diagnostics pinged for a response, and he suddenly realized that he had his arms wrapped around a lithe frame.

Still too soon to boot up his visual array, Jazz tentatively twitched his fingers over the thigh that rested across his own. Subroutines slowed further as he scanned his memory, trying to recall exactly what had happened before he shut down.

It wasn't Sideswipe? No, far too lean and curvaceous for a warrior build. A femme? Too thin.

"You have only been offline for a little over a joor," a cultured voice murmured near his jaw.

"Raj?"

Mirage 'hmphed', shifting in Jazz's arms, likely to get a better look at the saboteur's face. "I'm not surprised you don't remember. You were half in recharge when you _finally_ left the rec room. Sideswipe could have lasted another megacycle without you checking up on him." Mirage was silent a moment as Jazz hummed softly to himself.

"Were ya followin' me?"

Soothing hands caressed down Jazz's side, lighting up sensors still in the process of booting up. "I wanted to make sure you actually did go to your quarters. Since I knew you would not." Mirage's hydraulics hissed in irritation, and lips brushed Jazz's chin. "And you didn't. If you had stayed much longer I would have dragged you from there, too."

Jazz responded, optics still off, but he didn't need to see to run his hand up the Slimwheel's back, over the curve of a plated shoulder. He pulled Mirage a little closer. "An' ya thought it'd be fine and dandy t' just waltz in an' join me huh?" Jazz didn't bother to muster a jesting smile; his team should know well enough that they were always welcome in his quarters, and either of the two berths were theirs to use if needed.

Mirage smiled against Jazz's jaw hinge, scooting a little closer to his commander. His thigh scraped its way up Jazz's waist. "I had to make sure you didn't fall on your face on your way to your quarters. Primus knows it looked possible."

Jazz brought his optics online, He angled his chin down so he could meet Mirage's gaze. The spy easily met the questioning look, before averting his optics to pay attention to Jazz's audio horns. Jazz recognized it for the misdirection it was.

The spy's fingers played over his audio horns, drawing an excited gasp from the saboteur's vocalizer. Jazz moved closer, fingers running over delicate joinings and hydraulics hidden under the seams. The black hand slid up the noble mech's neck, cupping the white cheek.

Mirage's optics dimmed, and he didn't quite lift his chin.

Jazz recognized it for what it was. The damned fool was still too proud to outright ask, but Jazz knew better. His teammate's status unknown, their trusted commander down and unresponsive, his team leader uncharacteristically confined to his office for the better part of a megacycle. Mirage wanted comfort: the touch of a friend, a confidante, he wanted to hear that his teammate and his commander would be all right.

Jazz kissed Mirage's lips, nipping the white metal. He turned the spy's head, caressing the noble crest, a mark of his heritage. No noblemech would have ever simply submitted as Mirage did, but it was just another too proud request for comfort. Jazz knew this wasn't the spy's usual style, but it was the only one Jazz ever saw.

He moved in, mouthing the cables bundled tightly around the support structures. Mirage shuddered in his arms, slim hands tightening around the saboteur.

Jazz didn't make it a habit to kiss and tell, but others didn't share that habit and spoke of their lovers. Occassionally one of those lovers would be Mirage.

Jazz shuttered his optics, the textured wires pinching at the soft metal of his lips. His glossa snaked out, tracing one of the minuscule grooves on the cabling. Mirage whined, tilting his head to encourage further explorations. The torso plating under Jazz's probing fingers vibrated with the quiet workings of the spy's engine.

It pained him. A reminder that it had been far too long since he had taken a lover to his berth for the simple sake of appeal: the color and shine of their paint, the pleasing timbre of their voice, the invigorating mind, and sheer _life_ they possessed.

The touch on his interface plate nearly blew Jazz's already lagging processor. Too many processes snagged the delicate balance of his systems: gears grinding and coolant sluggish, engine hot and burning energon that was already low.

Jazz rubbed his cheek against Mirage's jaw when another deliberately inadvertent caress brushed over his interface plate. Mirage would never be so crude as to directly request a full interface, that would be beneath the station he'd held most of his civilian life.

Jazz moved up to kiss Mirage's lips, but then he pulled away.

The blue hands that had reached for him dropped as though they had never moved from the saboteur's shoulders.

The padding of the berth gave under him as he rolled, arm flung over his visor. "'M sorry, Raj. I'm still bootin' up, an' got carried away."

Mirage studied him quietly before sliding completely over to the second berth: message received. "You were running pretty rough through the cycle. Is everything all right?"

Jazz considered the question, allowing for the normal time of a diagnostic scan. "Nothin' a li'l energon won't fix. I don't think I took as much as I meant 'fore recharge."

A chuckle from the spy had Jazz lifting the arm off his face to look at his subordinate. "I imagine not, considering that you gave Sideswipe half your ration."

Jazz puzzled that over for a breem before he smirked. "Did, didn't I?"

Mirage hummed an affirmative, then seemed to realize what he'd done. "Yes, you did."

He turned toward the lean mech, rolling onto his elbow to stare down at the handsome face. He stroked his hand down the noble chin. Leaning down he kissed Mirage. "Ironhide wants t' leave as soon as he could. If I could stay, I'd finish what I started."

Mirage dimmed his optics once, turning his head into the kiss. "I wil be gone again as soon as I have recharged. Seeing how I have to cover two currently inactive positions on the team." The ghost of a smile curled his lips.

Jazz pressed another kiss to the white mouth. "I know." Then he grinned. "Who d'ya think had t' sign off on that order?"

The ghost softened into a real smile. "Remind me to thank you."

"Get some rest, Raj. Berth's there fer when ya come back too. I'll see if I can fit joinin' ya into my busy schedule."

The blue optics brightened at Jazz. "I am so thrilled you'd take the time," he monotoned.

Jazz stood, and walked out of the room. His grin faded after he exited through the door.

* * *

"_Jazz t' Prime."_

The connection crackled and buzzed with encryption coding running through the signal before Prime's smooth voice came over the line. _"Prime here. Report, Jazz."_

"_I'm about t' see 'Hide off. Y' guys back at Iacon, yet?" _Jazz grinned and flicked a hand at Backtrack and Astroscope as he passed them in the hallway. The two minibots waved back, visors brightening in a smile.

"_Yes, we have just arrived as a matter of fact. Are you certain you don't need Ironhide any longer? I'm in no rush to get him back while you still have an officer down."_

Jazz snickered as he imagined the other reasons that Prime wouldn't want his Security Officer back too soon. Jazz had seen just how overbearingly protective the red mech could be of his Commander. He'd heard similar things of Chromia with Elita One, unsurprising really. Likewise, Smokescreen had a tendency to take missiles meant for Prowl, earning him the position of the Commander's decoy. Wheeljack… well, Wheeljack was simply Wheeljack and not one to be in the midst of a battlefield unless it was to retrieve wounded with Ratchet. On the other hand, there had been that time Wheeljack had lost an arm intercepting a shot for the medic…

He shook himself out of his reverie, realizing that Prime still waited for a response. "_Nah, we got it covered from here. 'Preciate ya lendin' him to us. 'Sides, we're sendin' some sensitive information wit' him that we need Blaster an' Longview t' look at."_

Silence crackled across the comm. line and then Prime's voice came over again, carefully enunciating each word. "_Could you clarify what you mean by sensitive information?"_

"_I'm talkin' about the bug that was in our system. Catch my drift?"_

"_Yes, I know precisely what you mean. In that case, I'm looking forward to having Ironhide returned. Prime out." _Prime signed off the line.

Jazz wavered, disoriented by the abrupt disconnection. He collected himself and headed into the communication room, checking the terminal for any messages left for him and receiving a download of reports compiled during his recharge. He could have managed it in his own office, but preferred to this way because it allowed him to check up on the mechs on duty.

Red caught the light, propped up on the console; long legs stretched out from the black aft in the seat. Arms curled around the head: arrogantly assured, and proudly displaying the glossy red chest.

Jazz straightened as the reports downloaded, blinking at the mech lazing on comm duty.

"Must be nice to be that quiet."

The mech flailed, feet crashing to the floor and throwing the lanky torso vertical. Wide optics turned to Jazz, mouth opened and vocalizer stuttering. "Well, you see- It was- I wasn't-"

'Chill, man. I know you've got it covered. "

Sideswipe grinned sheepishly and leaned back in the chair. "Well we actually just received a message from Prime..."

"He's back at the base." Jazz nodded, bending back to the download and finding the message already in his inbox.

Sideswipe blinked. "Well, yeah- Hey, how'd you know that? I just sent that to you..." Sideswipe trailed off, brow ridge drawn down in puzzlement. "Then you know he's antsy for Ironhide to come back, right? Wondering when you were gonna send him on his way."

He wondered, for a moment, why Optimus would say such a thing after their conversation. Jazz laughed, earning another puzzled frown from the warrior. Guess he wouldn't want any of the lower ranks to think he thought his Security officer was losing his touch. "Tell 'im, I'm about to see him out now. Why are ya here? Ain't ya better suited for patrols?"

"Ratchet's orders: light duty. He wants the welding to assimilate."

"Lucky mech." Jazz frowned, keying a few commands into the console.

"Lucky, right. This is fragging _boring_."

He strode over to the other console, nudging Sideswipe to the side as he bent over the mech. "Why don't I have any messages?"

Sideswipe tilted his head, propping his feet up just under Jazz's bumper. "You know, Smokescreen popped by and I think he cleared your messages. He was a little grumpy, too..."

"Prob'ly cause 'Jack was keepin' 'Hide company for the past few joors." Jazz tossed a knowing grin down at the red mech.

The white feet pinged against Jazz's bumper, the sound ringing through his frame. Harmonies washed through systems aligned to detect the smallest sound. Jazz straightened, stepping away from the long legs.

"Oh? All you officers paired up or something?" Sideswipe said it in such a nonchalant way that Jazz wondered why he asked.

"Nope. Me 'n Frequency are free mechs." Jazz flashed a grin, dimming an optic behind his visor down at the mech.

"You're slagging kidding me. Everyone else is, what, bonded?" The console chirruped for Sideswipe's attention, but the blue optics never strayed from Jazz.

"Ya might wanna get that." Jazz gestured toward the console, grin never wavering despite the unease in his tanks.

Sideswipe finally turned, keying the channel open.

Jazz turned to leave, but he didn't miss the sidelong glance the warrior sent his way.

While considered sensitive information, it wasn't necessarily classified. Sideswipe seemed to have reached the same conclusion that kept Jazz in his current position. How easy would it be for the Decepticons to devastate the Autobots if they started targeting bonded pairs and hubs?

_Far too easy: wipe out Ratchet and Prowl offlines permanently. Leaving you completely in charge._

Jazz shook his head. That was an unexpected thought. Unbidden and unwanted. The last thing he needed was to have to take permanent command of this crew. The last thing he wanted was to lose two good friends in one shot.

It was a problem the Autobots hadn't recognized until six units were wiped out in a single devastating blow. The five commanders were bonded to a shared femme, and she commanded the bonded of their executive officers. The Decepticons had targeted the femme's group and then proceeded to launch offensives against the other five units, already battered from the sudden loss of their commander and XOs.

Now they restricted how many officers in a single unit were bonded, and if either the commanding officer or the executive officer were bonded then the other couldn't be.

He remained executive officer as long as he remained unbonded. If he ever did decide to settle on a single mech (or femme) and bond, then he would be reassigned and a new mech would have to be brought in for the position. Currently he considered any such devoted attachments a detriment to his duty as unofficial Morale Officer. Prowl needed him free of the obligations that come in a relationship to see to the needs of the unit. Be it a shoulder to lean and shed a few tears on, a warm embrace for a night and more, if Jazz felt the situation merited it. No single one mech was his lover, but he did love them all, because Prowl couldn't, no matter how much he might care.

Ironhide waited at the entrance to the base, working with Red Alert to clear the convoy that would accompany him back to Iacon. Jazz walked past the mechs already sitting in their alt modes, just waiting for the signal to move on. Bulkhead's green cylinder stood out amidst the crowd by sheer virtue of his size. Even the helos didn't match the tanker's size. The convoy centered around the Tanker, turrets and launchers already scanning the skies for Decepticon presence. They revved their engines at him in greeting and he replied in kind.

Since Ironhide and Red Alert seemed absorbed in their task, Jazz stopped at the entrance next to Hound. Ankmor lay beneath them, visible from nearly every lookout on the base. Vehicles, both sparked and drones, moved through the streets like a nest of glitch mice. Smokestacks rose to the east, industriously pumping out smoke from the processing factories attached to them. Neon signs lit up the west side of Ankmor announcing the perfect places to get overcharged or find a companion, perhaps even lose a few hundred credits. Individual Autobots gave the western side more patronage than they gave the eastern side, but the base itself purchased large quantities from the factories to the east.

Jazz hated to think what would happen to the city if the Autobots were forced to retreat. Ankmore would become like so many other cities around Cybertron: broken, empty, and filled with remnants of the original inhabitants. A haven for Decepticons and spies.

_And a step closer to Iacon_.

Jazz snapped on his optics, never having realized that he shut them off.

Hound stared at the sky, his expression reflecting the watchfulness of his trade.

"What's gotcher attention?"

The green tracker didn't tear his optics from the sky. Jazz followed his gaze to where a flock of turbohawks made lazy circles above the smokestacks.

'The flock's got a couple of new additions. I didn't think any of the new molds were moving around just yet. There's too many acid storms across the wastes this time of the metacycle."

Jazz tilted his head, watching the light reflect off the metal bodies. "Y' know how some o' the storms can get. Maybe they got blown over here."

Hound turned a surprised face on Jazz. "Yeah that could have happened. Poor slaggers must've been eaten up out there." The tracker straightened and turned away from the circling turbohawks.

Jazz took a few tics longer to pull his attention away from the dizzying sight.

Hound had already moved over to take his place in the convoy. The Roughrider shifted from side to side, obviously eager to get going. Hound loved nothing more than to be in motion and traversing the worse terrain to find the best paths. It made him one of the best at his job in this unit.

Jazz sauntered over to where Ironhide and Red Alert currently pored over a datapad. Red Alert looked up and shut his mouth, vocalizer buzzing to mute. Ironhide glanced up, his lips pressed together, before returning to reading the screen of the datapad.

Neither said anything, despite having been deep in conversation only moments before.

"Should my transceivers be buzzin'?" Jazz grinned at the other two officers.

"Naw. I was just givin' Red here a few pointers for improvements to his security system." He handed the datapad back to Red Alert, who immediately tucked it away into subspace. "'Course t'ain't many needed for ole Red. Dunno why he even had me goin' over them."

"Sometimes a second set of optics versed in the field is needed. Thank you for looking at them, I'll take your suggestions into considerations." Red Alert stepped away. "Safe trip back, Ironhide. Jazz." He nodded at the acting commander and walked away.

Jazz stepped closer to the big mech, clapping the red back amiably. "Thanks fer helpin' out here, 'Hide. Y've been a real team player." He couldn't help the grin that split his mouth open. "Though I'm sure y' weren't complainin' with Wheeljack keepin' yer berth warm. Smokey must love ya for that."

Ironhide smirked at the acting commander. "T'ain't my problem. He should learn ta share."

A chuckle hummed out of Jazz's engine, and he gave the large red mech's shoulder a shake. "Take care out there, old timer. Make it back t' Prime in one piece or he'll come revvin' up my tail pipe. He's antsy for ya to be back."

"Old timer?" Ironhide grumbled, smacking at Jazz's head. The quicker saboteur ducked, laughing. "He don't miss me. He's probably managed to entice Elita back to the base and is lettin' her unit run amok while they... discuss tactics." Ironhide's fond grin belied his grouchy tone. "I'll get them files to Blaster and Longview to have them purged and returned. Bee shouldn't have ta depend on third-hand memory fer too long."

Ironhide took his place at the fore of the convoy. "Let's roll." He transformed and, as though to show Jazz how his age hadn't slow him down, he went full throttle and hit the ground revving. His hefty form slammed into the ground before the mag plates had a grip on the metal road. Jazz knew that the impact hadn't left so much as a dent in the old mech's tough armor.

Optimus Prime's Security Officer took off like a Fineline eager to show-off.

Jazz shook his fist at the retreating Rollback. "Ya won't be able t' keep that up all the way t' Iacon!"

The convoy laughed as they passed their acting commander.

Jazz smiled as he watched his friends rolled past the city's eastern boundary's.

He glanced again at the turbohawks circling the smokestacks.

"_He's on his way, Prime."_

"_Affirmative. I'll look for him to come, then."_

One of the turbohawks pulled a tight U-turn and headed southeast, his path curving more eastward as he drew away from the city.

_Probably heading out to look for scraps._


	11. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

**Author's Notes**Three months between updates. Blech. I wish I could say it wouldn't happen again, but with Star-crossed eating heart and soul it will. Fortunately, I am slowly drawing to completion on that particular project. Not to mention the one shots I need to finish, suchas my one-shot that's become a monster in its own right, _Three Small Words._

* * *

Column after column of data flickered through his processor, a seemingly endless drone of reports, and transmissions, and statistics, and requests, and how the slag did Prowl keep up with all this and still remain sane? Every byte of information the other officers transmitted to him, he autosorted and then transferred onto the appropriate datapad. After that. he went over the information: approving where needed, declining as necessary, correcting any error found, suggesting ways to improve when the productivity or numbers fell short. Finally, he compiled the reports and sent them to the appropriate department.

He worked throughout a long megacycle, determined to keep his desk clear of datapads. After all, Prowl could leave his desk without a single datapad after a full megacycle of work, even with interruptions. He barred entry into his office, and delegated any calls to Smokescreen, and still only barely managed to keep up. So little by little the datapads had stacked up next to his arm.

"_Ratchet to Jazz."_

Jazz started, slamming the datapad in his hands down to the desk. The unexpected voice had shocked him out of his focused state. He blanched as he noticed the dent left in the datapad, and smoothed his finger over the dented metal. _"Whassup? Somethin' wrong with Prowl?" _

Static filtered through the officer's channel, a huff of annoyance. _"No. He's online and asking for you."_

"_Know what he needs?" _It felt like energon knives drove their way into his optical relays. Jazz reached under his visor, touching the lens over his optical sensors. The pain reached through the wires, all the way up to his processors. He had tried to refocus on his surroundings too fast, stressing the tiny motors of his optics. His processor ached, overclocking to absorb sensory feed that had been held in his databanks while he kept on his task.

"_He wants more reports to look at. Do you have any ready?"_

Jazz glared down at the datapad in his hand, and then tossed it, unfinished, onto the stack near his arm. "_Gotta bunch 'a them. Sounds like he's bored."_He gathered the completed datapads, and copied them onto blanks he had in his desk. He wouldn't have been able to do anymore work even if he tried. Once he lost his groove, he had a difficult time getting it back.

"_I could amuse him with your disregard of protocol, if you'd like. Get your aft down here before he steers me into a wall."_

Laughter filtered through the officer's channel, and Frequency spoke above the snickers. "_Better do what he says, before the cat starts drinkin'. We _all_ know what happens then._"

Jazz smirked. Frequency would of course protest anything that might cause Ratchet to drink, because inevitably, with his systems overcharged by high grade, the medic would begin to sing. The mech couldn't carry a tune if it was shut in his subspace.

"_Give me a tic, an' I'll copy 'em for for him t' look at."_

He stood, glancing around the room to make sure he'd not forgotten anything. Prowl used to complain about the clutter in the saboteur's office, but Jazz liked it. Trinkets lay in disorganized piles and clusters, covering the tables and shelves in the room. Musicpads decorated the table just behind him, within easy reach of his chair, should he need a distraction from the tedium of work, or from the long wait of one of his operatives on a mission. Even a few solid energon cubes made their home in his office, ready to be refilled from the dispenser in the back corner. A few deactivated solar grenades also spotted the room, resting on top of sheaths of musical scores.

Jazz loved his office the way it was, he knew where every item belonged, and knew when someone had meddled with them. Once, he had reported the theft of a datapad that held key information about the movements of troops. Prowl challenged Jazz's surety in the matter, dragging the saboteur back to the office to look again.

_Jazz seized Prowl's wrist before the commander had a chance to shove the trinkets off a shelf. Prowl scowled at the saboteur, optics burning bright under his chevron. He tried to wrench his arm free. _

_Jazz didn't relinquish his hold, dragging his superior to another table, one with a solar grenade and sheaths of plastic. "It won't over there." _

_Dental plates ground together behind Jazz. "You are so certain of that? Have you even looked?" Blue optics glared about the room, glancing at the clean floor pointedly._

"_Yes, I'm certain." He held his hand out over a handful of baubles weighted to always remained in place, despite their round shape. He pointed out each one as he named them. "These are in the wrong order. Viridian Highs should be facin' south an' in the lower row. Rackets and Riches should be completely face down. Nuts 'n Bolts should have the picture facin' the ceilin'. Femme Gri La is supposed to be in the far upper right hand corner, and..." Jazz looked over at his Commander and stopped. "Somethin' wrong, Prowl?"_

_Prowl stared down at the baubles blankly. "You name your souvenirs?"_

_Jazz looked back down at the spheres and laughed. "What, no!" He picked one up and turned it so Prowl could see the picture imprinted on it. "They're band names, man." He tapped the tiny words at the top of the Viridian Highs bauble. "Souvenirs I got from when they still had concerts. 'Fore the war." Jazz's grin dimmed a little, and he sighed._

_Prowl didn't say anything, turning to examine the rest of the office. Jazz could almost hear his processor humming with his thoughts. He turned his attention back to the desk. "There's a system to your madness?" He reached for the solar grenade. "What-"_

_Jazz grabbed his arm, fingers clanging harshly around his commander's wrist. "Don't wanna do that."_

_Prowl looked askance at Jazz. His doorwings lifted and his optics flashed. "You said these things were deactivated." He yanked his hand out of Jazz's hold._

"_Chill man. They ain't the problem." Jazz pinged a specific channel, at a very specific frequency, and then moved one of the stacksof sheaths._

_Prowl stared at the innocuous-looking device hidden behind the stacks, and attached to the grenade by a wire so thin that it blended into the clear plastic. "A paint bomb?"_

"_Nah, glue. It hardens in the air. Takes just long enough to cover a mech 'fore they know it." Jazz grinned at Prowl's gaping expression."Fraggin' hard to get off, too." He blanched, and tilted his head toward the baubles. "Too bad they only went for that."_

_Prowl straightened. "Red Alert has been notified. Is there any other way to trace the culprit?"_

_Jazz looked around the office, and then crouched to peer more closely at the table. He touched a finger to the edge. "Purple paint, hopefully not just an accent." He also pinged over a frequency. "Low frequency, short range homin' device."_

_Prowl nodded sharply, turning on his heel. "I will arrange an immediate role call, and have Red Alert sweep the base." He took one more look at the office, before striding out, already comming every mech off duty to the rec room for role call._

Prowl's requests for Jazz to clean up his office had lessened in frequency, and only mentioned as a matter of protocol, or as a jibe.

Jazz once again memorized the position of each item in his office, storing the images in a triple-coded file on his harddrive. He picked up a small green figurine that had fallen over, and set it upright. Black fingers brushed over the dancer's outstretched leg, hovering over the datapad it guarded. Then he wiped his finger over a spot of grease on the datapad, making the spot smear over the activated screen.. '_Evacuation Routes_' the pad read. He turned it off, then walked out of the office._

* * *

_Datapads in hand, Jazz entered the medbay through the main doors. The berths lay in their normal spots, the spares once again hidden within the walls. In a base this size, finding the medbay empty would only be possible if prearranged. So it did not surprise Jazz to find Ratchet hovering over Whirlidervish, working with Array to set a large disc on the helo's shoulder. Ratchet kept the medbay pristine. He used clean-up as a form of punishment for slacking in his team, and he always had a volunteer to clean the medbay. Currently, Hardwire scrubbed at the noxiously orange walls, his jaw set at a displeased angle. Another of the medics, Wake, sorted through the cabinets, his optics flickering as he took inventory.

Jazz took everything in one glance and then continued toward the back.

"One tic, Jazz," Ratchet called over his shoulder.

"Just goin' t' see Prowl, y' said he's online, right?" Jazz waved at the medic, not stopping his forward motion.

Wake glanced away from the cupboard,arms still buried amongst the items. Hardwire sent Jazz a tilted smirk.

"And I said _one tic, Jazz._ So wait one slagging tic while I finish attaching this."

Array glanced up at Jazz, her optics wide in shock at the CMO berating the acting Commander so openly. Wake and Hardwired chortled. Whirlidervish was offline and couldn't make any comment.

Jazz pinched his lips against the frown pulling at the motors of his face. The simple request shouldn't have irritated him so badly, and he didn't embarrass so easily normally. "If it's about the datapad, I can weld the ports for ya before I take it in t'-"

Ratchet gunned his engine, cutting the acting commander off. "_One_ tic, _Jazz."_

Jazz sat back on his heels at the force in the medic's tone. He waited as Ratchet finished attaching the gravity lift to the mech's shoulder. A second lift waited to the side, but Ratchet directed Array to ensure the lift functioned, and then attach the first set of blades.

The white and red mech straightened and turned. He frowned at the datapad in Jazz's hand, and then stalked past the acting Commander. "Office," he barked.

Array lifted another wide-opticked gaze to the black and white officer before returning to her work. The other two mechs grinned broadly at Jazz's expense.

Jazz flashed an affable grin, not wanting to appear as rattled by Ratchet's sudden vehemence as he actually was.

He followed the larger mech into the little office that was Ratchet's haven from the hectic confines of the medbay. Jazz could cover the room in only five paces, a few shelves lined the wall, holding personal tools and a few souvenirs. Ratchet didn't give Jazz much of a chance to look around. He leaned against his desk, red fingers rapping the screen of a datapad that looked…

Slag.

The perceptive blue optics narrowed. "This is yours then? I had asked everyone who visited Prowl if they knew where this came from; you were the only one left." Ratchet leaned forward, tapping a finger against the datapad. "What the slag were you thinking?"

Jazz quirked a sheepish grin, stunned that he'd been so careless. "Sorry man, I kinda broke the one ya fixed. You guys were swamped, so I left it there. Meant ta tell ya, but then got caught up in doin' reports. No one else was infected were they?" He pulled up the reports he had archived on the status of the crew, but nothing mentioned any others suffering from Prowl's ailments.

"Thank the Matrix Prowl has more sense than that. He uploaded your files and then completely wiped the harddrive with an EM pulse." Ratchet stepped over to Jazz, looming over the smaller mech. "This time we were fortunate, but slag all knows where this came from and next time someone may be too nosey for their own good and we'll have it running unstopped through the unit. Fragging delightful prospect." Ratchet leaned down, his scowl deepening to an outright glare. "Which brings me to my other point, out there," he gestured vaguely to the side, "you're in charge, on the battlefield and on your missions. But here, in this medbay, and in any temporary unit we set up on the field, it's _my_turf. I expect you to obey my orders, direct or not, no argument, no fuss. Which means, right now when you're visiting Prowl no datapads with working ports, no attempts to override the jam in the Silent Room, no exanging of data chits, and absolutely no uplinking until _I_declare him clean." Ratchet punctuated each taboo with a jab at Jazz's white chestplate. "I am not going to take any chance on this viral worm spreading amongst the crew. Is that clear?"

Jazz lifted his palms up, fingers spread in supplication. "Hey man, like I said, ya were really busy."

Ratchet scowled fiercely, his optics blazing under his chevron. "I don't care how busy we are, if slag like that happens again you get me, or one of my senior medics and you let us know before you set one foot out of those bay doors." He straightened and tossed the datapad into his office incinerator.

Jazz blanched at the wasted datapad. Normally they recycled datapads for parts if they were beyond any other use. He didn't want to consider just how dire the consequences would have been had that datapad simply been wiped and reused. "Sorry man, that was just plain dumb. Ya wanna get these welded shut for me then?" He held the datapads out to the medic.

Ratchet eyed the proffered datapads before huffing and taking them one by one to weld their ports shut. "If you were any other mech, I'd take one of these upside your head."

Jazz grinned. "Right-o, Ratch!" He watched the welder touch the sides of each datapad. "Prowl's gonna hate that we're wastin' so many datapads."

"Not completely. We can recycle some of the parts. Jack's trying to cook up a reusable pad for you two. Prowl would appreciate it." Ratchet clicked his welder off and handed the stack back to Jazz. "Come on, he's waiting on you." He swept past the black and white mech and went through the doors of his office.

Jazz followed him out, shifting the stack of datapads into one arm.

Ratchet headed straight for Prowl's room, tossing a few more instructions in Array's direction. Cold air rushed out of the room as they stepped inside.

Prowl's optics flashed on to look at them. He smiled briefly, before shifting his doorwings up into a more authoritative mien.

"Good t' see ya online, Prowler. Kept missin' ya."

"You have been kept busy, no doubt." His optics turned to the stack of datapads in Jazz's hand. "More reports?" He held out his hand when Jazz nodded. "Wonderful. I was beginning to think I'd have to actually activate this... thing that Frequency left for me." He waved his waiting hand toward the shelf next to his berth.

Jazz grinned upon seeing the virtual simulator sitting on the shelf. Prowl abhorred such things as a waste of his precious time. "Aww, ain'tcha gonna use it at all? Frequency was just thinkin' about ya!" Frequency also knew Prowl's distaste for such entertainment.

The white fingers flexed expectantly. "I'm certain he was."

Jazz snickered as he carefully handed the datapads to Prowl.

Rather than immediately going through them, Prowl set them to the side. He composed his hands in his lap, glancing toward Ratchet wordlessly. Jazz had no doubt that they communicated across their bond, and he briefly wondered if the virus affecting Prowl would latch onto Ratchet.

_Direct download would be necessary; spread the infection more rapidly._

Jazz shuddered internally at the thought of an unknown virus running rampant through the ranks.

Ratchet looked through the logs on the monitors, by all appearances ignoring their conversation.

"How are things going, Jazz? Are the others offering assistance where they can?"

Jazz relaxed, leaning against the foot of Prowl's berth. "Yeah, things are goin' smooth as can be expected with this lot. Smokey's been a big help. Ironhide's already headed back ta Iacon with Bumblebee's infected memory." Jazz paused, blanching slightly. "I haven't checked on Blue, recently, though."

Prowl tilted his head. "He came to see me last time I was online. If you could speak to him, I'd appreciate it. He's blaming himself for what happened."

"Sure thing, Prowler."

Prowl lay his head back on the berth as though he were too tired to hold it up. "You mentioned in your report that Ironhide and Wheeljack were delinquent in their duties. Care to elaborate?"

Jazz turned a grin on his friend. "Don't think I really have ta."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Cause it's the same way you and Ratch have been 'delinquent in yer duties' before, too." His servomotors tightened in his cheek as his grin widened.

"Oh." Prowl pursed his lips, sending Jazz a narrow-eyed glance. "Ratchet and I are never delinquent in our duties, Jazz. That is a misinterpretation of the situation."

Ratchet frowned, narrowing his optics at Prowl. He turned away from the monitors, walking over to the cabinets to rifle through them. It didn't conceal the aggravated growl of his engine, though.

"Tell that to poor Blue."

"Bluestreak should learn to ping before walking into someone's closed offiice."

Jazz did laugh then. "Office? It was a store room."

Prowl lifted his chin, optics bright in his face. "And the doors were closed, and I was... working in it. Therefore it was my temporary office."

Jazz paused as a thought occurred to him. "Slag. That's why you're always assignin' yourself inventory." Jazz batted at the white leg behind him. "'Mind me never ta volunteer t' assist ya when yer doin' that."

Prowl shrugged a doorwing. "I never require another's assistance. Ratchet is usually available to help."

"Conveniently?"

"Naturally."

Ratchet suddenly whirled around to face them. "All right you two! Enough about our personal lives. Slaggit, Prowl why is it always a joke to you? Makes me slagging uncomfortable, and you know it."

Prowl's optics widened innocently, sending Jazz into another fit of laughter. "I do not consider it a joke, Ratchet. I am simply correcting an assumption."

Ratchet huffed through his vents. "Slagging well know what you're doing, aft."

"Just gettin' ya back for all the pickin' on me y've been doin'. Ratch."

"_You're_ getting me back? Prowl seems to be doing all the work," Ratchet huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

Prowl lifted his brow ridge at the saboteur. "In what way is Ratchet picking on you?"

"He keeps findin' reasons to jump on me soon's I walk in the bay, Prowl. I ain't doin' nothin' to deserve it either."

"What is this? 'Annoy the mech that has to put you back together' cycle?"

The corners of Prowl's mouth twitched. "You really shouldn't pester your acting commander so much, Ratchet."

Ratchet's vocalizer blitzed with static and he tossed up his arms before stalking out of the bay, cursing the whole time.

Prowl gave a low chuckle, his engine humming pleasantly. "He does have a point though," he said suddenly serious. "I do expect you to respect his authority where it applies." He gestured to the datapads. "Do not come in without seeing that these are welded."

Jazz bowed his head, accepting the reprimand. "Didja know Sides didn't get an orientation?"

Prowl reset his optics, doorwings lifting. "No, I hadn't. Should I assume that Sunstreaker hasn't either, or have you asked him?"

Jazz grimaced, malleable metal pulling tight across his face. "I haven't talked t' him much, really. Prob'ly safe t' assume."

"Hmm. He's been spending a lot of time in the brig." Prowl commented, glancing toward the datapads. "I see that you two have had a rocky first meeting, as well. I'd like you to try a little harder if you could find the time. Would you recommend that someone else try? Smokescreen, perhaps?" The Commander frowned at the cart that held the datapads he hadn't geten to. "If he keeps this up, and you can't get through to him, we'll have to transfer him to another unit." Prowl shifted again, his gaze returning to Jazz again. "In the meantime, how is Sideswipe settling in? I know you've been keeping tabs; staying online when you should be recharging to talk to him. I haven't had the chance to speak to him again."

"Yer reprimand don't count?" Jazz pushed himself onto the berth a little more, trying to make himself comfortable. "He seems ta be doin' fine."

"You don't sound very certain."

Jazz shrugged. "Well, he's hidin' somethin', but slag all if I know what."

Prowl's doorwings dipped down, though the emotion did not come through his vocalizer. "We all have secrets, Jazz."

A buzz vibrated through Jazz's throat. "This ain't one'a them kinda secrets. What do we know about him? Anythin' salvaged from Doldrum's records? Or any other units he served with?"

Prowl sighed. "The only information we have on them is what they have provided us with." The Commanding Officer hesitated, glancing toward the door to his room. "That information cannot be trusted either. Their medical records have been altered."

Jazz leaned back, jaw slack before he thought to actually use his voice. "What?"

"Ratchet can't tell who did it, but someone has altered Sideswipe's personal records. Sunstreaker, as well. He couldn't even find a fragment of data from the original file."

"Does Red Alert know?"

Prowl frowned at Jazz. "Ratchet does follow protocol, Jazz."

Jazz didn't recall receiving a warrant request from the security officer. Not unless it was waiting for him to step out of the Silent Room.

As though linked directly to Jazz's cortex, Prowl continued, "Red Alert is looking into it, right now. He's coordinating with Top Gear's scavenging detail for any information they can retrieve from the base computers. They are not turning up much on those two. He is suspicious; their arrival and your recent mission's failure... the timing is too circumspect."

Jazz laughed. "I'm surprised he ain't demandin' they be confined t' quarters."

Prowl tilted his head. "He mentioned a concern that you might be biased about Sideswipe, and refuse the request."

"I ain't biased 'bout no one," Jazz huffed, "but I still would'a refused. He is right about that part."

"Jazz..."

"Oh, come on Prowl! Bee was the leak here. They ain't even touched the information. Slag, I don't think they had any idea about what was going on."

Prowl's crossed his arms under his bumper, and he arched an optic ridge at the saboteur.

"And y' would'a confined them to quarters, just on that?"

Prowl dropped his arms to his sides, though he didn't look the least apologetic. "No, I wouldn't. I would want more evidence." Prowl's jaw clenched. "Though if it comes up..."

"Hey, man, I do actually care about the safety of the unit."

Prowl leaned back, with a sigh. "I know." He glanced at the stack awaiting his attention. "Thank you for bringing me the reports. I look forward to going through them. I only wish I could help you sort them."

Jazz shrugged. "I can deal with it fer now, just don' be surprised if ya have t' play catch up." scooted his frame off the bed, the plastic squeaking against his finish. "Don't stress your systems, rest when ya need to."

A smile tugged Prowl's mouth up for a moment. "Even without your prompting. Ratchet."

Jazz knocked his hand against the white toe joint sticking out from the tarp. "He'd just remotely shut ya down, anyways, what're ya talkin about?"

Prowl paused in reaching for one of the datapads to flash a frown at Jazz. "He would never. He doesn't do that to me."

Jazz smirked at his commander. "Sure he don't."

Prowl picked one of the pads up by the corner, drawing it and the one under it to him. "He wouldn't, Jazz. Simple as that."

"Like he didn't back at the camp, right?"

Prowl's optics glanced up again, optics flicking over the saboteur's frame critically. "No, he didn't. Jazz, if you keep this up, I would suggest you receive a tune-up at your earlier convenience. I was severely depleted and badly damaged, I went offline on my own."

Jazz returned his Commander's regard, clenching his jaw against any further words.

Prowl didn't normally drop offline mid-sentence. That he thought he had done so on his own sent a chill through Jazz's systems. One that had nothing to do with the cold of the room.

Prowl turned his attention to the datapad, effectively ending the conversation.

If he brought it up to Ratchet, would the medic simply dismiss it as the initial symptoms of the bug in his programming? Considering the timing, Jazz decided that this would be the case.

Exiting the Silent Room, Jazz waved at the medics.

Ratchet didn't look up from his work on Whirlidervish's second gravity lift, but Array waved back jauntily. Hardwire didn't even turn, intent on his scrubbing. Wake lifted a hand from the cabinet, giving Jazz an absent-minded farewell.

Jazz grinned at the femme, as she was the only one to look his way, and left the medbay, heading for the rec room and much needed energon.

* * *

"Well, this is a turn-around."

A red mech plopped himself down on the couch next to Jazz, sprawling out on the otherwise empty furniture. His feet smacked down on the short table just in front of the couch. Sideswipe clasped his hands behind his head, grinning unabashedly at Jazz's startled frown.

Jazz leaned back, grinning back as he assumed the same lackadaisical position as his friend.

Sideswipe tilted his head, leaning further back in his corner of the couch. "What are you doing here by yourself? One might almost think you don't have any friends."

Jazz swirled the energon in his cube, glancing toward the fine red mech. "Hey now, you're the one I've been catchin' by himself all the time."

"Yeah, but you usually sit at the bar, I don't see you here on the couches with the rest of us." Sideswipe popped up like a jack-in-the-box and grabbed up the energon cube Jazz hadn't even seen him set down.

"You're right. Sometimes I like a little quiet though."

Sideswipe paused, the cube halfway to his lips. He cast a skeptical look at the surrounding seats. His gaze returned to Jazz, and he sat up straighter. "Ah frag!"

Jazz tilted his head, cube at his lips, but untouched. "What's wrong?"

"Fraggit! This is one of those things, isn't it?"

Jazz narrowed his optics. "Things?"

"Yeah, you know, 'things'? Slag I don't know about and all. This is your 'do not disturb' spot, isn't it?"

Jazz put his cube on the table, leaning toward the mech and setting his mouth to one side.. "Ya might wanna start makin' some sense there, Swipe."

"This is where you sit when you want to be left alone, right?"

"Nah, man, you're fine." Jazz quirked a grin. "My 'do not disturb' spot, eh?" He poked a finger at the magplate set in Sideswipe's shoulder. "So does that mean you've got one somewhere?"

"Yeah…" Sideswipe finally took a drink from his mostly full cube. He pulled the cube away, and he grinned fit to split his face open. "But I'm not saying where it is."

Jazz lifted both of his hands, his own grin tugging at his motors. "Hey, d'ya see me askin'?"

Sideswipe sat back again, taking his cube with him. He nudged Jazz's ankle with his foot. "Sure don't, and that's what I like about you."

Jazz smirked, and scooted closer. "But ya know what I _do _see?" He braced his hand on the back of the couch, just behind Sideswipe's shoulder. He leaned closer until he could see the mechanisms within Sideswipe's optics twirl and change without even increasing the magnification on his vision.

Sideswipe didn't quite shrink into his seat, before he lifted his chin defiantly, and shoved himself back up. His chestplate rubbed against Jazz's prominent grill, his ventilators running softly. He turned his head, until his nasal ridge hovered only micrometers away from Jazz's face. "What do you see?" he asked, his voice quavering slightly despite his bravado. His entire frame quivered with tension.

Jazz grinned, and lifted his head. His lips grazed the edges of Sideswipe's tactile sensor range, his own ventilations puffing out from between his dental plates. Jazz chuckled, a deep rumble in his engine.

He did not, however, miss the hand that balled into a fist at his friend's thigh.

"I see ya ain't talkin t' anyone yerself," he murmured into the mech's audio receiver.

Sideswipe pursed his lips in a frown. "That's a lie!"

Jazz leaned back at the mech's vehemence. "Oh, really?"

Sideswipe shoved Jazz away with a hand to the officer's chest. "Slag yeah." He gestured to an area behind Jazz. "I was over there, with, ah... the talkative guy."

Jazz glanced over his shoulder. "Bluestreak?"

"That's his name!" Sideswipe's gears ground with embarrassment. "I have no idea why I can't remember that mech's name. You'd think I could remember a name like that." He grinned, downing the rest of his energon. "But I saw you over here by yourself, and thought you could use some company."

Jazz snorted. "Sure. You jus' wanted t' pick on th' fact that I was all alone for once."

Sideswipe lifted his empty cube. "Guilty as charged." He dispersed the cube, and leaned forward onto his elbows. "I did want to ask you about one of the mechs here. I think he's on your team."

"Wha's his name?"

"Ah, that I don't remember."

Jazz looked askew at the other mech. "Gotta problem with names, Swipe?"

"Little bit. What's your name again?" The red mech smirked, revealing the question for the joke it was.

Jazz laughed quietly. "Then, what's he look like?"

Sideswipe's optics dimmed as he stayed silent a moment, no doubt pulling up a capture from his memory drive. "He's slimmer than a femme and blue and white, and..." Sideswipe paused again, frowning. "Hang on, you only have two members in your team. And one's offline in the medbay, right? The one that Sunslag beat up?"

Jazz laughed aloud at the name. "I don't think you should call Sunshine that to his face."

Sideswipe grinned, though his dental plates clenched in a grimace. "You don't think I have?"

Jazz stared at the mech for nearly a breem. "Slag. Ya gotta death wish or somethin'?"

Sideswipe didn't answer, except to shrug the comment off. He looked down at his hands, expression pensive.

Jazz shifted, suddenly and inexplicably uncomfortable in the soft couch. "So... Whatcha wanna know about Raj?"

"Is that his name? 'Raj'?"

"Y' should prob'ly call him Mirage. He don't know ya, yet."

Sideswipe turned his head, expression inscrutable. "I just wanted to know why the slag he's hanging around with that gearhead roomate of mine. Has _he_ gotta death wish or something?"

Jazz shrugged. "You know, he's an autonomous mech. I ain't his keeper. He can make his own decisions without my input. Why? Got a problem with your roommate havin' a friend?"

Sideswipe shook his head, meeting Jazz's gaze through the visor. "That's not an issue. I just don't want to walk in on them with their cables tangled."

Jazz grinned knowingly. "I see now. Well, don' worry. Raj ain't th' type t' just jump in the berth without preamble. And who's to say Sunshine's even interested?"

Sideswipe clenched his jaw shut, optics brightening and he hastily turned his face away, jumping to his feet. "Who knows what's going through that mech's processors? I'm gonna grab another cube and let you have your quiet. Talk to you later."

Jazz stared after the mech's hasty retreat, wondering if the subject of Sunstreaker was actually such a touch topic.

Jazz took another sip from his cube, leaning back and propping his feet up on the table. He settled the cube in his lap, hand wrapped firmly around it.

He shuttered his optics, letting out a deep sigh. He could just about fall into recharge right there.

"Who the slag do you think you're talking to, ya little rustbucket?"

Jazz jerked upright, turning in the direction of the sudden uproar.

Furniture shrieked aside, pushed by two frames locked together.

Jazz leapt to his feet, even before he registered who and how many were involved in the brawl. "_Red, you got this situation here?"_

Red Alert's voice came over the line, calm and unhurried. "_Naturally, Jazz. You're there, do you require security?"_

A circle surrounded the two (Jazz was relieved more weren't involved), some watching, wearing varied expressions, and a few who looked on the verge of pulling the mechs off each other. They stepped aside for Jazz, and the officer froze.

Vitran snatched his opponent off the floor, one hand fisted around the much smaller mech's neck. The Convoy's fingers dug into the red mech's cables, tightening his grip on the struggling Tougline. "You need to cool your little jets, slagger."

With a start, Jazz recognized the conformation of the other mech. Sideswipe? What the slag was Sideswipe _thinking?_

Jazz took a step forward, intending to intervene.

Suddenly, Sideswipe roared and kicked out, his foot slamming into Vitran's chest. The Convoy barely budged, even though the warrior's foot smashed through his sensor shield.

Vitran laughed however, as Sideswipe's foot twisted and got caught within his framework. "That was smart, little slagger," he rumbled , glancing toward Jazz. "Ya might wanna get him before he damages hisself. Know how Ratch can be."

"I'm gonna break every joint in your hand," Sideswipe, roared. He grabbed Vitran's hand, twisting his body in an odd contortion. Jazz caught a glimpse of the mech's pale optics, just before he ripped his foot free of the Convoy's chest. Vitran staggered as plating tore, his optics going white with pain.

Sideswipe snarled, pale optics suddenly blazing white, and pried the fingers off his neck, joints audibly snapping under his grip.

Vitran bellowed, tossing the smaller mech away, and into one of the bystanders.

Jazz paused on his second step, everything had happened so fast he hadn't even had a chance to intervene.

And then Sideswipe came up, with his gun unfolded and charged. He aimed the barrel right at the hole torn through the sensory shield and Jazz realized that the tear left only a small amount of armor between the shot and Vitran's spark.

"Oh, slag! Someone grab him!" someone shouted, but Jazz didn't have time to register who that voice belonged to.

He bolted forward, his feet slamming into the metal flooring. Everything seemed to slow down as his processor raced forward. He still had five steps to go before he intercepted Sideswipe's line of fire ('_would 'Swipe fire on me?') _and another seven to get to the raging mech.

Sideswipe sneered, at the Convoy, leveling his gun for an even shot. His optics narrowed behind the bulky butt of his laser gun, and his finger twitched on the trigger.

Jazz's left foot pounded into the floor, and he shifted his weight, hydraulics hissing and moving his right foot up to take the impact of the next step. Three steps.

Sideswipe deepened his stance, bracing himself for the recoil of his powerful gun. His finger tightened on the trigger.

Two steps. Jazz calculated the distance, and threw himself at Vitran. Jazz collided with the Convoy's torso, and shoved forward.

Vitran staggered, under Jazz's sudden weight, stumbling to the side.

The laser bolt seared right past Vitran's shoulder plate, crisping the paint black.

Sideswipe's turned his gun on Vitran again, his face twisted into a mockery of what Jazz normally saw.

"Swipe, stop!"

The gun didn't waver, and the finger twitched again.

Jazz barely had a moment to process, '_He's really going to shoot me!'_

Sideswipe seemed to hesitate, his optics brightening from white to a pale hue.

Then one of the mechs behind Sideswipe tackled him, knocking the warrior off his feet. A brief struggle ensued; the two mechs wrestled on the floor, both fighting for possession of the gun. More of the bystanders dropped in, pinning Sideswipe's arms and legs until they wrenched the gun from the black hands.

Vitran cursed and swore, shoving Jazz off to stand on shaky legs.

Jazz rose to his feet and stormed over to the mech currently dogpiled by half the room.

Two security guardss burst into the room, rifles out, and optics bright. They didn't even pause to look around the room, but headed straight for the center of the commotion.

Jazz stood over Sideswipe and the mechs on top of him, engine revving high. "Let 'im up."

Skeptical optics turned up to Jazz, but the mechs obeyed, standing one by one.

Sideswipe shoved the last few up, stumbling to his feet. He glared at everyone in the room.

At least until Jazz stepped forward and reached up. He yanked the Toughline's head down with a firm grip on his audio horns.

"What the fragging slag was that all about? Come on!" He pulled, and moved forward, keeping his fingers wrapped around the sensor in his hands.

Sideswipe's hands came up and wrapped around Jazz's wrist. "Hey, hey hey! Don't do this! Ow! Leggo of me, Jazz!" The fingers squeezed Jazz's arm, but did no worse damage than scrape the officer's paint.

The two security personnel intercepted Jazz, bright optics on the red mech.

"Want us to take him?" Siren asked, after glancing at Vitran. "Don't want him to cause ya any more trouble."

Jazz frowned, an unusual motion for his motors. He glanced at the mech in his grip, narrowing his optics behind the visor.

Sideswipe bent over, his arms twisted in an amusing tangle to keep Jazz from pulling too hard on his horns. He grimaced quite painfully, optics squinting nearly shut as he grit his teeth, gently batting at Jazz's hand. His vocalizer still whined with muted pleas for Jazz to 'leggo, please, oh please, I won't do anything like that again, so could you please let go, cause that kinda smarts, ow~!'

The frown dissolved into a smirk. "Y' ain't gonna cause any trouble, are ya?" Jazz dragged the mech forward, listening to the uneven poundings of the mech following him.

"No! Promise! Gonna let me go,now?"

"Nope. You guys comin'? Just wanna be left alone for a li'l spark to spark at the cell."

Sideswipe stopped, optics widening. "Cell?"

Revolver laughed. "Whar'd yah thank yah were goin'?"

Jazz dragged Sideswipe along, but froze when he encountered a goldenframe.

Jazz backed up, still gripping the audio receiver. He looked up, power surging through his systems as he caught sight of the mech he least wanted to see. Sideswipe shifted in his grip, but Jazz couldn't spare him a glance.

"Wanna move, Sunshine?"

The golden warrior, leaned against the threshold, arms crossed over his gleaming chest. His torso leaned against one side, but his foot sat halfway across the doorway.

His glare shifted, thoughts flitting across his face in waves Jazz couldn't interpret. Finally he pushed himself off the doorway and stormed past them and into the rec room.

Sideswipe sighed, metal squealing as he squirmed in Jazz's hand.

The acting commander glanced sharply at the red mech.

Sideswipe's helmet hid most of his face, but Jazz could see the pained grimace of his mouth.

"We goin'?"

"Yup!" Jazz dragged the mech forward, taking him through the hallways without regard for the poor mech's rather substantial pride.

Siren and Revolver laughed heartily behind Jazz, rifles folded and stowed in their leg compartments.

_Clankclank. Clankclankclankclankclankclank. Clank. Clank. Screeeee._

Jazz pressed his lips together against a smirk as he listened to the uneven rhythm of his friends' steps.

Guffaws met them as they passed mechs in the hallway. Sideswipe staggered along, one hand still on Jazz's wrist, but he didn't even try to pry the acting commander's fingers off. They reached the brig, and went into an empty block. Jazz yanked Sideswipe into a cell releasing the warrior as he threw him forward.

Sideswipe staggered across the stained floor, catching himself on the berth before he toppled over face first.

Jazz glanced back, waving Revolver and Siren away. The two security mechs exited the small block. The officer stepped into the cell with the frontliner. "Do ya wanna tell me what happened back there?"

Sideswipe glared at Jazz, rubbing at his abused audio horn. "Vitran's a slagging aft."

"That ain't what I'm talkin' about, Swipe." Jazz stood before Sideswipe and snapped his hand back, pointing a finger in the general direction of the rec room. "I'm talkin' about pullin' yer fragging gun on another Autobot. What the frag was that about?"

Sideswipe's hand dropped from his audio horn, and he pressed his shoulder against the wall. "He should have kept his slagging hands off my neck cables."

"So ya pulled a gun on him? Ya fraggin' shot him? Just cause ya don't like havin' your neck cables pulled."

Sideswipe's engine growled. "So this is how it is? I thought you were supposed to be my friend, but I guess that's just slag you feed all the new recruits. The moment they screw up you show your true colors. Is this how it's going-"

Jazz interrupted the mech, grabbing his chin and forcing his head to look up. "I _am_your friend, but I ain't gonna pat yer back when you're bein' an aft. I'm gonna tell ya stupid yer actin'. I'll even beat ya over the head if that'll help." He let go of Sideswipe's jaw and smacked the mech upside the head. "An' that in there was _stupid_," he emphasized the word with a few more hits across the other's crown.

Sideswipe's brow furrowed and he glared down at Jazz. "What kinda friend are you, anyways?"

"Hey, I'm a good friend. But I still gotta job t' do. An' that was still really stupid." Jazz sat back on his heels. "Someone rip out some'a your neck cables before?"

Sideswipe scowled at the floor, and flopped down on the berth, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his thighs. He templed his hands, resting his chin on his thumbs. "I just don't like anyone messing with them, is all." He bared his dental plates, grinding them together like he had a goodie between them. "I... hate it."

Jazz tilted his head, taking in the dented plating, the scratched and dirtied paint job. "I could tell." He turned to leave.

Sideswipe sighed. "How long am I stuck in here?"

Jazz paused, looking the mech over one more time. "Just till ya chill yer jets." He pressed his lips together. "One joor, and y'll be out."

The red mech leaned back against the wall. "Thanks."

Jazz smirked. "'S what ya say now. Wait till ya hear the part about talkin' to' Ratchet."

Sideswipe jerked upright. "You're fragging kidding, this isn't enough?"

Jazz grinned. "Prowl's in the medbay, too, don't forget."

Sideswipe threw himself back on the berth. "Ah, Primus in the slagging pits!"

Jazz walked out of the cell, quietly snickering.

"Hey," Sideswipe's voice halted Jazz's step, and he turned to look back at the cell. Sideswipe didn't appear at the bars, but his voice still carried clearly around the corner. "I'm sorry about shooting at you. I didn't mean it."

Jazz hesitated. "Don' do it again, man. Ya won't like it."

* * *

Array came in just as he was getting ready to leave his office. She bounced up to his desk, arms tucked behind her back.

"Whassup honey, lookin' for a quick fix. I could use a break." He tilted his head, grinning with his normal charm and charisma.

Array rolled her head. "I'd love to take up that offer, Jazz, really I would, but I just don't think that you and I would fit. You're a gear, I'm a shoulder ball, there's no way we two would work."

Jazz snapped his fingers, and buzzed his vocalizer. "Well slag, there's my plans all wrecked for the recharge cycle. So whatcha need?"

Array bounced on her toe joints, smile never having left her face. "Bumblebee is online, and mobile. He's disoriented, and confused from the memory loss. We were hoping you could talk to him, help him through this a little better."

"Sure thing. Where's he at? Still in medbay?" Jazz stood, coming around the desk.

Array walked in front of him toward the door. "He's right outside. Want him to come in?"

"Nope. I was about to head out." Jazz hit the button to open the door.. He didn't even hesitate a sparkpulse. "Bee! Good t' see ya up an' about. I thought y' would be in there fer the entire vorn."

A smile tugged at the minibot's lips. "You know Ratchet, always makes it a pleasant stay."

Jazz looked down at the mech's dim optics. "Need t' refuel, 'Bee?"

Bumblebee shrugged. "I'm a little low."

Array pulled two cubes from her subspace. "You wanted to come straight here." She turned to hand Jazz the containers. "Ratchet wants him to drink one now, and the next in about a joor and a half."

Bumblebee rolled his optics. "'He's' right here, ya know."

Jazz grinned. "Yeah, well, 'he' still needs to catch up on current events before 'he's' completely here." He took the cubes from Array, and handed one back to Bumblebee. "Any other instructions from the doc?"

Array shook her head. "That's it." She gave Bumblebee another look over. "You gonna be okay from here?"

Bumblebee looked up at Jazz and grinned confidently. "I'll be fine."

One side of her mouth lifted in a smile, and she nodded, optics winking at the two of them. "I'll leave you to it then." Array waved her fingers and bounced on down the hall.

Jazz squeezed Bumblebee's shoulder, and shook his smaller team member. "Let's go t' my quarters an' I'll catch ya up on watch yer missin'."

Air rushed out of Bumblebee's vents. "I'd like that." Jazz started them down the hall. "My chronometer still reads four decacycles ago."

* * *

"_Jazz we need you to come to control room." _

Jazz booted up on full alert, his entire frame jolting him upright. Bumblebee still lay offline next to him. The temperature registered as a pleasant coolness on his plating. His second berth lay against his main berth, and Bumblebee lay across the both of them. Jazz blinked at the tableau, trying to reconcile the image with the informationin his databanks.

"_Jazz?" _

"_Yeah? I'm receivin'." _

He swiveled his legs off the berth, trying to shake the fragments of his processor together.

"_We got a situation." _

Bumblebee came online, pushing himself onto his elbows. He looked around in confusion at first, then turned an inquisitive look on Jazz.

Jazz smiled at the mech, and leaned down to press a kiss on a yellow horn. _"What's up?" _

_Frequency came on then, his words emotionless, sterile, indicating an alarm that he despised showing. "Ironhide's convoy's under attack." _


End file.
